


One Night With The King

by gin007



Series: Babylon 5 Collection [1]
Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-18 20:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin007/pseuds/gin007
Summary: In the midst of Londo's reign, he must navigate the deadly consequences stemming from an unanticipated visitor from his past.





	1. Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> There are minor mentions of several characters from the Centauri Trilogy and tie-ins with those books, although familiarity with the Trilogy is not necessary for this story.
> 
> A million thank you for my betas for their comments and suggestions: Writesalott & Bimo.
> 
> The impetus for writing this story was to explore the debilitating loneliness and isolation faced by Londo during his reign.

 [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/156597844@N02/36605346571/in/dateposted-public/)

 _God pity them both! and pity us all,_  
_Who vainly the dreams of youth recall._  
_For all sad words of tongue and pen,_  
_The saddest are these, 'It might have been'._

\- John Greenleaf Whittier, Maud Muller

2269, Imperial Palace, Centauri Prime

Londo had retired to his quarters in the palace for the evening. His faithful attendant, Dunseny, had taken his sash, the seal of the Republic, and his white gloves, but as always, Londo had declined the assistance of Dunseny in other matters of dress. He had, after all, a Keeper perched on his shoulder that could be accidentally discovered by touch. Mollari wouldn't risk his attendant's life to do something he had always done for himself – namely dress and undress himself, even if his years were starting to wear heavily on him now. He shrugged himself out of his jacket and waistcoat before he rubbed his face with weariness, feeling the whiskers of his five o'clock shadow scratching his palm. He gazed despondently at the ornamental bed before him with his chin in his hand. The bed was large enough to accommodate a host of Centauri playthings or even several Pak'ma'ra if he had tastes along those lines, but sadly, the bed wasn't getting much use from him. Certainly, he craved sensual physical affection, but it was the companionship he desperately missed most of all.

It had been two years since he had sent Empress Timov from the palace, and the circumstances of their parting ensured he could no longer turn to her for companionship, but as bitter as their parting had been, he had ensured her safety from the Drakh infestation. Now, while his days were stacked with one official event after another, there were few people with whom he could let down his guard. It was the sad and unfortunate fact of his life as the Emperor of the Centauri Republic that he could trust no one. It was also a fact that his position isolated him, and he was wretchedly lonely. He knew of the royal court's murmurings wondering why he took no lovers – but he knew exactly why – he would not expose their most vulnerable moments to the prying thoughts of the Drakh network. His moral sensibilities were offended by the idea of his sexual partners being unconsciously raped by the entirety of the Drakh network, and he did not particularly relish the idea of the Drakh infiltrating his own private moments.

Mollari poured a vintage 2248 brivari into a crystal glass from the nearby wet bar. As he sipped it thoughtfully, he couldn't quite believe how much he missed sleeping next to a warm body. Or perhaps, he missed speaking frankly to a person without his every word being dissected by court mongers. Or, perhaps he missed the feeling that not everyone was having their daggers sharpened behind his back or was preparing to slip poison into his food. The most soul-wrenching reality of his life was not that he had a Keeper enforcing the Drakh's demands on him and causing him untold neurological damage, but rather, it was the ancillary loneliness his relationship with the Drakh had caused. The isolation was especially painful for Mollari because his extroverted personality thrived on constant social stimulation, and he was denied what he most craved: the company of lovers and friends.

Londo had passed many hours in content conversation with his ward, Senna, but the power structure of their relationship was entirely different than that of his contemporaries. Many of his peers had been brutally killed under Cartagia. A few of the lucky ones had died of natural causes. Others died in military service or in duals over matters of honor. Some had moved from the Capital City. Now there were only a handful of his old friends who periodically called on him, but his oldest and best friends were no longer counted among the living – men like Urza Jaddo and Lord Jano.

His despondent loneliness almost made him regret, _almost_ , his divorces from Daggair and Mariel. Perhaps he would not have minded their subjugation by the Drakh – then he would have some companionship – even if it was _their_ companionship, and they would get their just desserts living in the same prison he was being forced to endure. He snorted at this thought, dismissing it distastefully from his mind, for even he was not that cruel.

He turned off the lights, sitting in the darkness in his chair with his brivari. He contemplated as he rubbed his temples with his free hand and closed his eyes. There were women – and men – who threw themselves at him every day. Cartagia had certainly made use of these privileges of office. Even Turhan – Turhan who everyone believed belonged to a cadre of morally enlightened emperors – had his favorite concubines. But here he sat, a man who delighted in the sensual pleasures even more than most, yet here he was alone. The weight of the crown and the dignity it required had changed him; he could no longer enjoy the seedy pleasures of exotic dancers at the clubs in the Capital City, and even the restrained festivities at the palace had become stale. He was too distracted with vital concerns to enjoy such revelry, or, when he could forget the concerns of the country, the exhibitions only reminded him of bitter memories of dancers past. And the realities of his isolation that stemmed from the Keeper on his shoulder made the shameless flirting he endured everyday a form of subtle torture. It was one more reminder that he was an absolute prisoner of the Drakh, a helpless pawn. He was Emperor of the Centauri Republic, yet he was perhaps the loneliest man in the universe.

As he sat in the darkness, he considered his Keeper. He wondered what it thrived on. It did not seem to need sustenance, yet it was intimately linked to his nervous system. _My sorrow,_ he thought. _It feeds on my sorrow_.

He raised his brivari in a toast in the darkness, "To duty," he tipped the glass forward slightly. "Valtoo," he added quietly, without any hint of cheer.

* * *

The first time the Emperor's public audience was cancelled by the Prime Minister, Durla narrowly missed being pelted by a crystal tumbler.

At the news of the cancellation of the public audience, the Emperor had stalked toward Durla's office, and the infuriated blood pooling in his cheeks had signaled to everyone to get out of the way of his forceful footsteps before he turned his wrath on them. Mollari threw open Durla's office door without a knock, glaring at the Prime Minister with embers burning in his eyes.

"Get out," he hissed at the junior ministers through clenched teeth without averting his gaze from Durla.

The astonished subordinates vanished at the sound of the Emperor's dripping tone, leaving the two men alone in Durla's office. Mollari crossed the room in two quick steps, his hands seizing Durla's collar in an iron grip.

"The _reason_ there is an emperor, Durla," he spat out the Prime Minister's name, "is _for_ the people. Not for the convenience of whatever trivial schemes you are plotting behind my back."

Mollari felt strongly that it was his duty as emperor to discuss grievances directly with the people. Such public audiences were not only a long tradition among Centauri emperors, but the audiences also allowed the Emperor a rare amount of direct contact with the common people and their problems. Mollari sensed that Durla had become jealous of his rapport with the public at these weekly gatherings, and indeed, Durla felt that he could make better use of the Emperor's time than with the trivial matters discussed at the public audiences.

"Of course your Excellency is correct," Durla straightened his shoulders, feeling Mollari's grip pressing into his flesh while he tried to maintain his equanimity, "But the meetings on your schedule involve matters of the utmost importance, and they are all critical to the well-being of the people. Is not the entirety of the people the Emperor's concern, and not just the scattered few that have the means to wind up here on the palace steps?"

Londo felt the Keeper stir as soon as he laid his hands upon Durla, and now the pain was coming faster and in greater waves, so much that his vision blurred for a moment, so before the pain could overtake him, he shoved Durla against the wall, releasing the Prime Minister from his grasp. As soon as he released Durla, the Keeper settled, nestling deeper into his shoulder with satisfaction.

"Don't play your petty games with me, Durla. You have the skill of a _mere apprentice_ in matters of deceit and intrigue, and I can smell the lies emanating from your tongue before you even speak." Mollari walked to the far side of the room and pointed an angry finger in Durla's direction. "You will reinstate my audience with the people waiting outside _at once_."

Durla offered his most placating tone. "If that is truly what you wish, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to ensure there are as few last minute adjustments to your schedule as possible."

"You will do better than that," Mollari growled, his hand curling around a crystal tumbler sitting on one of Durla's side tables. "You will not cancel the audiences scheduled with the people without my express approval. _Do you understand_?"

Durla bowed, "Of course, Your Majesty. Except when there are matters of national security or there are otherwise immediately pressing issues or..." Instead of catching Durla squarely in the face, the crystal tumbler smashed the wall close enough to Durla's head to leave shards of glass in his left ear. Durla's eyes widened in surprise at the Emperor's rage, and he licked his lips, trying to maintain the weak smile still painted on his face as he felt the stinging in his ear. It was unclear whether the Emperor had been trying to merely terrify him or if his aim was diminishing with age, but Durla did not have time to consider the matter.

" _DID YOU NOT HEAR_..." But before Mollari could express his further rage at Durla's continued impetuousness in the matter, he stopped abruptly and put a hand to his forehead, staggering as the Keeper sent new shock waves of pain through his body to wreak havoc on his nervous system. Durla watched in horror as the Emperor almost collapsed, and he immediately called for assistance, but as two guards entered the room, Mollari regained his footing.

"Do not touch me!" he put up his hands in a command for the guards to leave him be, and then he supported himself on the back of a nearby chair. With a pained expression, he realized his body would not stand much more abuse and allow him to remain vertical, so he would need some time to recover from the attack.

"I will be resting in the private residence," he said, bitterness evident in his voice as a fit of coughing overtook him. On his way back to the residence, the Emperor steadied himself twice on the hallway's walls, but he did not stumble again, though his muscles were spasming from the Keeper's torture.

As they watched the Emperor depart, an aide asked Durla if they should reschedule the Emperor's public audience for the day. "No," Durla said, watching his retreating figure with a glint of satisfaction in his eye. "He is feeling unwell today. Send the people away."

In the following weeks, Durla always seemed to find a new pressing reason to cancel the scheduled public audiences, and while the cancellations had enraged the Emperor the first few times they had occurred without his express approval, the Drakh's painful warnings made it clear that the Drakh network agreed that these ceremonial audiences with the public were a nuisance at best.

"How dare you tell me that the Emperor of the Centauri Republic's time would be better spent than by speaking to the people who are his charges!" Mollari raged at Shiv'kala, the Drakh who controlled the Keeper. Shiv'kala had appeared out of the shadows to discuss Mollari's latest misbehavior. At Mollari's angry words, Shiv'kala expended no further energy on discussing the matter; rather, he immediately sent the Emperor to his knees in a fit of pain, leaving Londo helplessly vomiting blood on the floor. Shiv'kala allowed Mollari to consider his position on the floor for a moment before he addressed the Emperor.

"We have already considered the matter and decided," he hissed. "Why must I always remind you that you have no say in these decisions? Now, you will think on your disobedience." The Drakh sent waves of pain through Mollari again, leaving him slumped on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and bile, his muscles quivering. He was unable to stand or even drag himself to the wall of his private quarters for several hours by which time his motor skills were exhausted, and he was reduced to unconsciousness. So he slept there, on the floor, bent against the wall in bloody and soiled clothes, once again condemned to being a helpless and stranded prisoner of the Drakh.

Once the rays of sunlight announced morning's arrival, he dragged himself and his vanquished pride to the bathroom to clean up before he was found on floor devoid of his dignity, thinking all the while what the people would say if they could only see the pathetic excuse for an emperor that existed behind closed doors. _We Centauri live our lives for appearances_ , he thought to himself as he stared at the deplorable and defeated figure in the mirror.

* * *

"We made it," Turo elbowed his brother in the ribs and threw back his unruly shock of hair that never seemed to settle properly into a crest. "Can you believe it? We are at the royal palace!" Though commoners, he and his brother had been admitted to the palace because it was the weekly day dedicated to public audiences – the day on which a commoner had a legitimate right to seek entry to the palace grounds. Turo's dancing eyes took in the manicured grounds, alighting on several women lingering by the reflecting pools.

"We are lords for the day, brother," he whispered with glee.

As Turo floated toward the ladies, he felt Puck's iron hand clamp around his arm. "No, we are not. Stealing the clothes of nobles does not make you one, so try not to get us in further trouble..."

"Borrowed," Turo corrected his brother, his eyes unable to remain in one place as he took in the grandeur of the palace grounds. "Besides, we look dashing. The women will not be able to resist us."

Puck sighed as he smoothed his perfectly sculpted crest. His pale complexion and dark hair was the antithesis of his brother's sun-soaked skin and the sandy blond mop his brother called a crest.

"Turo," he stilled Turo with the eyes of an older brother's glare. "Are the people you borrowed the clothes from aware of it?"

"Not yet," Turo replied, unperturbed by the question. He ran a hand through his hair ruffling his unkempt crest.

Puck tugged the tight clothes down. "We'll never pass for lords, anyway. You wouldn't know how to behave if your life depended on it. You'll be drunk and pissing naked in the royal fountains before midnight."

Turo flashed his teeth in a grin, "Now, _that_ brother, _that_ would be a good time. We'd never have to buy our own drinks again when we get back to Porto if we pissed in the Emperor's fountain. We'd be heroes in our quarter."

Puck grabbed his brother by the arm with a forceful look on his face, "Do not do anything foolish today, Turo. It is treason to even speak such things, especially here on palace grounds. The Emperor is not a man to be trifled with, and he'll have our heads on display in the courtyard as a warning to other commoners putting on airs. Besides, have you forgotten why we are here?" Puck glanced at the courtiers in the royal gardens that were periodically looking their way before he diplomatically squared his shoulders and struck off for the main entrance of the palace in a brisk militaristic walk.

Turo considered pursuing the delightful delicacies that were lounging in the royal gardens, but his brother would likely find him and drag him out by the ears, so he inhaled the beaming sunlight with a thump on his chest and put on his best aristocratic swagger as he wove through the light crowd in pursuit of his pale older brother.

* * *

The public audience had just ended. It had been the only one held in weeks, and unsurprisingly, only nobles with ducats to spare had made their way to the Emperor's ear. The commoners were resigned to the back of the room, straining on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the Emperor's white attire, but the throng of people ensured most of them would have nothing but the crush of bodies scuffing their shoes to remember their one moment in the palace. Little did they know that they shared a matter of ignorance with the Emperor himself: Durla was receiving bribes for places in line at the public audiences, and only the Prime Minister's prized allies could afford the prices he set.

Nevertheless, the Emperor was sensitive to the crowds who were turned away at the times dedicated to public audiences, and at the conclusion of them, he took time to entertain the palace visitors. On this sunny afternoon in the Capital City, the Emperor was doing just that.

The Emperor was standing with several of his ministers flanking him, and an aide was presenting each individual in a long and winding receiving line. The Emperor was in good spirits, cheerfully greeting each person in turn.

The constant shuffle of names and faces was invigorating to Mollari. His social nature thrived on conversation, and he was adept at switching his demeanor from diplomatic, witty, serious, or attentive depending on the person in front of him. He effortlessly waved his aide away for a good portion of the introductions, having retrieved from his long memory the name and occupation of most of the individuals being presented to him. His warmth and diplomacy were on display as he cast his undivided attention on each person. He raptly listened to each person's brief remarks, warmly making them feel like they were the center of the universe for the few moments they were in his presence. Though his temper at the palace had noticeably soured in the past years from the machinations of the Drakh, the ilk scratching away at the Republic's soul, and the effects of his isolation, his good-natured self returned in spades at times like these.

"Lord and Lady Montego," the aide announced as the lord bowed and the lady curtsied to the Emperor. The Emperor took a fluted champagne glass from a nearby aide, sipping politely at their introduction before expertly engaging them on what he knew was their favorite topic – the happenings at House Montego. Hearing of the latest intrigues at House Montego, the Emperor threw a hand on Lord Montego's shoulder with a hearty laugh. "I cannot help you with the bills your fifth wife is running up, but if you ask _very_ nicely, perhaps I will grant you a divorce from her before the Festival of Janulus when you are sure to go broke," he chuckled as he saw Lord Montego's first wife agreeing heartily at this prospect.

As the next group was introduced to him, the Emperor listened with a concerned expression to the plight of Southern province farmers, agreeing that the current drought was almost at the tipping point for drastic weather interventions, and he assured the farmers that the Ministry of Agriculture was keeping a careful eye on the situation on his behalf.

As the farmers departed, Mollari snorted at the sight of another aging nobleman from his past, "Well, well, well, well, Lord Fantagio. The last time I saw you, you were at the point of Ursa's coutari. I don't know quite how you escaped him, but here you are." Fantagio threw up his hands in a happy shrug before quickly departing the Emperor's presence, likely because he owed a great deal in taxes and had been overheard around town publicly chastising the Emperor's government at length.

"Perhaps a coutari will yet find him," Londo grumbled, and his aide leaned forward with angst on his face, preparing to take down a note. Londo sucked in a breath when he noticed the aide's expression. "Don't write that down, Santio. If he is found dead in the next week, I will hold you responsible," he said. Then, he added good-naturedly, "Perhaps I will even grant you a raise, eh?" He chuckled as he watched Fantagio's retreating back.

The line continued to inch forward, and a diminutive, quiet commoner was almost at the Emperor's elbow.

"The Lady Aryella," Mollari's aide announced to his ear.

Mollari watched Fantagio disappearing into the crowd, and as he turned forward, he stated, "You know, I once knew a magical creature with your name, Lady Aryella..." He stopped abruptly as his eyes settled on the woman before him. He immediately noticed her deep emerald green eyes, and in an instant, he recognized the sway of her body. He could tell merely by the way she was standing with strained muscles that nerves had almost paralyzed her. The light smile on his face faded as her visage caught his eyes.

The woman curtsied in respect as she nervously addressed the Emperor, her eyes on the ground, "Just Aryella, Excellency, I have no title."

The only thing the Emperor could hear was the overwhelming sound of his hearts beating out of his chest and his ragged breath coming faster and harder as he stared at the woman. The aide glanced around nervously as he noticed the Emperor had fallen speechless.

"Aryella," the Emperor managed at last, suavely stepping forward to take her hand as his diplomatic mask settled over his startled features. "Well, this is a surprise." He paused again, studying her features for a few moments as he tried to gather his thoughts and determine a course of action. At last, with her hand in his, he motioned to one of the guards with his champagne flute.

"Majesty," the woman's eyes grew wild at the approaching guard. "I request but a few moments of your time. I have been trying for weeks to see you," the woman dropped her eyes to the ground in nervousness. "This was the first public audience you have granted in some time, and I was unable to have you hear my grievance because I could not afford the fee."

Londo leaned in, his voice low and his brows knitted together. "Are you saying the guards did not let you in? Did you tell them who you were?"

"I – I thought you did not want to see me. The guards were unable to find a record of my name. So I awaited one of your public audiences."

"What do you mean when you said you could not _pay the fee_?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I was told there was a fee for the right to have you settle a grievance."

Mollari's eyes narrowed at this revelation. Such a practice defeated the point of the public audiences, and he sensed Durla was behind it. He dismissed his rising ire for the moment to concentrate on the woman before him.

Londo barely noticed the outdated clothes that clung to her diminutive figure, but they had caught the eye of the Royal Court, and he heard the murmurs behind him commenting on the commoner's choice of attire to appear before the Emperor. Mollari raised his chin in displeasure as the murmuring continued behind him, and he gazed at his first wife, a waterfall of thoughts cascading through his brain.

A thin smile settled on his lips.

"We will talk. But not here, and not now," he told her. "I will be along shortly." Turning to the guard, he instructed them curtly. "Take her to my private study." The guard snapped his heels together in compliance.

Londo was thoroughly annoyed that Aryella would be turned away without his knowledge, although he was even more annoyed that his ex-wife could make her way onto the palace grounds without his guards being aware of her movements, but then he recalled that his father had the official records of their marriage destroyed 30 years before, and his annoyance faded. As these thoughts thundered through his brain and he saw her departing on the heels of the guard, Santio whispered, "Would you like me to have her thrown off the palace grounds, Excellency?"

Mollari turned to the aide, his eyes surprised at the suggestion. "No," he replied, assuming a blank mask of diplomacy while he sorted through the cascade of emotions overcoming him. "Make our apologies to our guests as a matter of importance has arisen," he said as he nodded a brisk goodbye to the waiting room.

Without another word, Londo left the room for his personal study, flanked by his guards.

* * *

On his way to his study, Mollari saw Durla in the hallway, and Mollari pointed him into an empty room, leaving the guards outside as fury colored his face. "What is this I hear about fees for the public audiences?"

Surprise rippled across Durla's features momentarily before he quickly reassumed his detached political face. "Excellency, I can explain..."

"No," Mollari cut him off with a dangerously low and livid tone, "I doubt very much that you can explain to my satisfaction. You have been receiving bribes in my name. I am under no illusions, Durla. You have been undermining my relations with the people to stuff your purse in anticipation that you will need money for your own bid for the crown, no doubt."

"Your Excellency has misconstrued the..."

Mollari could not suffer the Prime Minister's babble anymore, and he could not help the angry grip he closed around Durla's collar. He knew there would be painful repercussions later, but he could not restrain himself in light of Durla's greed and his subversive erosion of the people's good will. Mollari twisted the Prime Minister's collar until Durla's face turned blue.

"You will provide an account of every single ducat you have stolen from the people, do you understand me?" Mollari hissed in Durla's face. "And then you will transfer that amount in triplicate to the treasury where it will be used to help the people you are stealing from. And if I _ever_..." Mollari ignored the warnings of pain sent to him by the Keeper as Durla's face took on a deeper shade of blue, "...find out about anything like this again, even mere whispers, I will ensure that you find your grave before the sun sets over the palace. Do I make myself clear?" The rolling waves of pain were seizing Mollari's ability to breath just as he was choking Durla, but the effects of Durla's selfishness and gluttony combined with the Keeper's bridle of pain fueled Mollari's anger. Durla's nodded his head anxiously, gasping for air. Mollari violently hurled Durla into a nearby ornamental settee that rocked as the body hit it.

Mollari stared at Durla, too angry and wracked by the Keeper's pain to move. As he regained his composure, he felt the resulting weakness in his nerves unsteady him, but after a few moments, he was calm and collected enough to return to his study, and he cast a last smoldering glare at Durla over his shoulder. "Do not forget who wears the crown, Durla, for I, myself, will relieve you of your life if you ever line your pockets with the people's money in my name again."

Mollari left Durla, and he made it back to his study putting one foot after the other purely through his willpower. Reaching the door, the guards dutifully waited outside. Mollari did not wait for the guards to pull it closed behind him, but instead, he latched the door himself, taking a reflective breath before he turned to meet the woman staring at his back.


	2. Seven Days in May

Londo had not seen Aryella since the day he had been forced to tell her that their marriage would be annulled. She had taken the news with pain in her eyes and politeness in her words, but he had seen the subtlest collapse of her proud shoulders, and he knew that her body translated her mood more than her words ever would. On the day that he had been so cruel, he would have preferred that she shout obscenities at him; instead, she treated him with respect and kindness even when he knew that he was causing her tremendous pain. Her restrained acceptance had made him feel even worse, and he knew she was reserving her tears for the private sphere of her life that he had fought for months to be let into, and he would now be denied. So she had disappeared from his life without a fight, without fuss, leaving only an absent void, a black hole that swallowed every brittle piece of his broken hearts, and the memories of their affair arose only at the command of alcohol and loneliness. Because Mollari had not seen her nor heard from her in three decades since that black day, and because he was incapable of resurrecting those memories in times of sobriety, it had made her unannounced appearance at the palace all the more shocking.

* * *

Three decades before, Aryella had been hired by Urza Jaddo's father to teach the young man how to craft his two left feet into skilled dancing machines. Londo had happened upon them at a royal court function, and the lithe young woman had taken his breath away. She seemed to float across the dance floor, and her body begged her dance partner to follow her flowing steps.

"Urza," Londo snatched his young friend to the side when the man was retrieving refreshments from a servant, "Who is on your arm? She is breathtaking."

Jaddo had looked at him with a strange look, "She is my dance instructor."

Mollari grinned, poking him, "Great Maker! No one can help you and your ten big toes. You might be an excellent swordsman, but you are no dancer. She needs a man who can properly show off her talents – introduce me to her at once."

Jaddo stiffened. "She's a _commoner_ , Londo."

At this revelation, Londo didn't blink nor did the enchanted smile fade from his face. "She's _anything_ but common, Urza," he whispered back, enraptured.

So Urza had introduced them, and Londo had his breath taken away for the second time that evening because it was only then that he saw the flashing emerald eyes that set her apart from every other Centauri he had ever met.

Londo was not a particularly good dancer when he met Aryella, but whenever she passed over a room's threshold, she captured his undivided attention. He used every last ducat to buy weekly lessons of her skill. She tended not to use words to express herself. Instead, she used the sensuality of her body to express her emotions, and he quickly learned to read her moods purely from the subtlety of her body language. When she spoke, he hung on every word that dripped from her mouth and every refined motion that emanated from her body. It was his rapt attention to her body language that crafted him into an excellent dance partner in a remarkably short amount of time, and he learned how to beckon his partner's body toward his own, allowing their movements to melt together as if commanded by a single brain.

Londo was a firm but gentle dance partner, responding to her corrections with respect, and they developed a mutual rapport in the movements telegraphed between their bodies. He noticed how she reacted to the warm pressure of his hand on his back and how her graceful feet glided across the floor, always following him in perfect time as if her body was yearning for him. But more than that, he was mesmerized by the way she placed all of her trust in him on the dance floor, depending on the safety, security, and strength he provided, and he guarded her trust with tenderness.

Londo's skills excelled under Aryella's perceptive tutelage, and his increased abilities allowed him to navigate important Royal Court functions with style and charm, sending Londo's star higher in Centauri social circles. And yet, although he had grown into an excellent dance partner, he felt the stilted coolness between his body and other partners on the Royal Court's dance floor, for he felt no rapport with them as he did with Aryella.

Londo had fallen madly in love with Aryella's sensuality, gracious intellect, and wit, though she was reserved and quiet off the dance floor, preferring to keep her passions hidden from those who did not know her well. Londo's friends could hardly believe the demure girl they encountered off the dance floor could match Londo's untempered fires, but Londo knew better – he had already discovered the well of passion hidden from others except on the dance floor. He threw himself at her, desperately pursuing the delights of this nimble commoner, but she sidestepped his every advance, driving him mad with lust and desperation. He begged to see her socially outside of their lessons, but she demurred, rejecting his advances for reasons unknown to him. And then, when he ran out of money to buy her lessons, she tutored him for several weeks without pay, but finally, she sadly told him that she could no longer afford the expense of her commute to the palace quarter.

"But how will I see you again?" Londo pleaded.

"If it were meant to see each other again, Londo," she said, stroking his chin gently. "Then the gods will ensure it."

Londo had watched her depart with anguish in his eyes. He knew there was something she was keeping hidden from him, but he did not care what it was. He had fallen madly, desperately in love with her. He would shadow her every move if she would let him, but she had cut him off at the knees with her disappearance into the bowels of the city.

In the following weeks, he fell into a deep depression, and his father became concerned about his mental state. At last, his father called him back to House Mollari, and he led Londo into the estate's great hall.

"Londo," he had said, putting an arm around his son's shoulder. "Look at the lords of House Mollari." He pointed to the gilded portraits lining the stairway. "One day, your portrait will hang up there." He gestured at the row of paintings. "And now, it is time for you to wed. I have arranged an excellent match for you with House Algul. The match will meld our houses together, and..."

"No," Londo shrugged off his father's arm, anger in his eyes, "I do not wish it."

"Londo," his rotund father growled, "I know you have been moping over some commoner that you met with Urza, but you cannot live as a bachelor forever. Your mothers won't stop bothering me about it, and in all fairness, it just will not do. You are embarrassing our House before the other nobles. This is a good match. Perhaps you will even grow to like the young woman."

"I do not wish to be forced into a marriage that I do not want." Londo fumed.

Very firmly, his father grabbed his shoulder and spun Londo back toward the portraits. "Arranged marriages are a staple of Centauri society. They keep the fabric of the Republic strong. You are a nobleman, and you must live up to the tradition and honor required of you. A true Centauri sacrifices for his country. You will learn to bear the same sacrifice that I have borne, your grandfather has borne, your great-grandfather has borne, and every Mollari man back to the founding of House Mollari. Forget this commoner and embrace this match I have made for you, or you can forget this House. Now, let us speak no more on this matter."

The young noble turned to his father, fire coloring his eyes. He had been a war hero at Ragesh III, and he was of age to make his own decisions now. "You are right," Londo let bitterness color his words. "We will speak of it _no more_." At that, he turned on his heel, retrieving his things and heading for the comfort of his quarters near the Royal Court.

In the following weeks, he went to every exotic dance show available, and he watched the dancers there with dead eyes, trying to distract himself from the one dancer he truly wanted. He stared through the dancers, no longer delighting in the sensuousness of their lithe bodies. He drowned his sorrows in the cheapest liquor he could find, and he stared into the bottom of his glass as if it would spring him from the cage his father was trying to cast around his shoulders. And then, one night, he felt the presence of one of the exotic dancers looming over him, and he looked up at the stage, the delightful sight of a scantily clad dancer leaning toward him. As his eyes were distracted by her supple body, he heard her speak.

"Whatever it is, it can't be _that_ bad." She leaned down to place a kiss on his brow, and he noticed the emerald eyes softly gazing at him.

"Aryella," he whispered, plucking her from the stage. Within moments, he had been thrown from the club by the bouncers for manhandling the dancers, but soon after Aryella emerged from the club, bemused at his theatrical antics.

Although he knew that Aryella had no titles, no noble House, and a questionable occupation as her primary means to secure an income, Londo did not care, for he could not help the feelings she inspired in him, and he threw his father's warning to the wind. That night, he did not propose to her; rather, he called a carriage and had it deliver them to a small chapel where they would be married in private. As they walked up the steps, his fingers intertwined in hers, he turned, uncertainty overtaking his step for the first time since he had caught sight of those emerald eyes again.

"Please," he implored her. "Let me be your husband." The fear of rejection registered in his face, and she had smiled at his desperation. As she paused, he threw himself on his knees with unabashed romanticism. "You are the only one I want to dance with for the rest of my life."

"Londo," Aryella stared wide-eyed at his theatrics. "You are going to ruin your trousers." Then, she cast a smile at him with a nod in reply. And they had been married within the hour.

Londo knew the wrath of his father would descend upon his head when the marriage was made public, but he had been certain he could navigate his father's fury when the time came.

He was wrong.

When young Londo Mollari returned to the traditional holdings of House Mollari for the first time after the wedding, his father made the choice crystal clear: he could keep Aryella at the cost of being disowned by his family, expelled from House Mollari, and ostracized from Centauri society, and in so doing, he would lose his title, his inheritance, his status, and his family.

His father, a hard glint in his eye, had asked, "Is she worth being a pauper? Is she worth the misery you will put your mothers through, never being able to see you again? Is she worth your name being taken from you because you wish only to serve your own self-interests? You will never have another chance at these things. You will either annul the marriage and proceed with the arranged marriage between House Mollari and House Algul, or I will dismiss you from my House and my life within the hour." The firmness of his words, Londo knew, meant that not even the strongest entreaty would sway his father's position.

Since birth, Londo had been taught to cherish, respect, and cultivate his duty toward the Republic, the Emperor, and his House. To lose his name and his House would mean to lose his entire identity, and he would be awash in a sea of commoners without purpose, without a means to support himself, and without any of his family or friends. His hearts seemed at odds with one another, and he could barely breathe, the decision pulling him in two directions. But while his passion implored him to keep his newfound love, his practical side could not barter away his past, present, and future. Moments before his father's deadline passed, Londo quietly capitulated. At that moment, he felt a part of his hearts and his soul viscerally die before his eyes. This first cut, borne by ending the affair that had made him truly happy, resulted in his hearts receiving the deepest and thickest layer of scar tissue that they would ever bear. The seeds of his later destructive decisions were sewn from the scar tissue piled on over decades, starting with the moment when he bowed his head before his father's command to divorce Aryella, tears of bitterness stinging his eyes.

As devastating as being forced into the decision had been, the act of telling Aryella crushed his hearts all over again, and the audible breaking of her hearts added to his misery. At the beginning of the conversation, they had been newlyweds in the blush of new love. At the end of the conversation, she was his first ex-wife, receiving nothing in recompense for the few days of their marriage or the pride he had taken from her. Each word was another slash of the knife to her hearts, cutting asunder each of the earnest promises he had made her only a few days before to cherish her whether their mutual future brought harmony or strife. Now there would be no mutual future at all. He saw each blow he delivered received in her body language, but the most painful blow was watching the light in those sparkling emeralds turn dull.

She had raised no words of anger against him when he had told her of their impending divorce. Rather, she fell back to the reserved demeanor she showed strangers.

"I will not see you again, Londo. It would be for the best," she had said simply. He had respected her wishes in the matter, and she had disappeared out of his life. He pushed her to the part of his mind that guarded the long list of memories that he tried very hard to forget, though each new marriage bitterly reminded him that he had traded tender love for disdain, ridicule, and scorn.

* * *

"Aryella," the Emperor turned to the woman standing patiently in his study before him. His emotions were overwhelming him, and he could not discern how to react to her presence, so he reverted to the easiest one to fulfill: self-preservation.

As she curtsied at his presence, he said, "I should have known you would arrive sooner or later. Are you here for money, then?" He circled the desk in his study and sat down while trying desperately to quell the turmoil in his chest. He pulled out a pen and prepared to write after he made the briefest of eye contact with the woman he had not seen in three decades.

The woman's face did not register a response the remark, but she calmly responded with the same voice he knew from his youth, "That was unkind, Excellency."

At her remark, some of the determination to swiftly see the matter to a conclusion melted from Londo's face. She was just as guarded with him as she had been the first time they had met – as if he was a complete stranger to her. He put down his pen and rose, battling with the emotions burning in his chest – feelings he was desperately fighting under a collected mask of detachment. "Perhaps. And considering our history, you should know you need not call me by my titles."

"Actually," she responded with thoughtfulness but without a hint of malice in her voice. "Considering our history, I know how much they mean to you."

Although they were not meant to bite, her words seared him in half like newly sharpened razors, but he managed to squeeze a tight smile onto his face. The Emperor glanced at the diminutive woman who had inspired such passion from him as a young man, and he could not help but be reminded of the love that had been curdled by his father's commands. For all his short words of greeting, he knew, deep down, how much power this lost love could exercise over him, and it was terrifying in its immensity. And the idea that these feelings he had surely sewn in her could now be used against him preoccupied his thoughts. His mind wavered. Either she was being used as a pawn in an elaborate scheme to kill or coerce him, or she had actually come to him of her own free will. He suspected the former, but a sliver of hope wondered if it was not the latter.

"Why are you here?" Londo asked.

He watched her reaction carefully. She moved her jaw, but no words fell from her mouth. She put a hand to her breast, steadying herself. "Londo, this is very hard for me to say to you. It is difficult for me to even see you again." She faltered, nerves making her determination waver. "After we parted, I married a good man. His name was Enzo Marcanti. Like me, he was a commoner. We had two sons before he died. I made the fatal mistake of telling them, once just after you were crowned, that I knew you in our youth. They have begged and pleaded to come to the palace. So I am asking your indulgence to make their acquaintance, even if it is briefly."

Londo furrowed his brow. _This_ was her request? It was disarmingly simple, and yet she had wound herself tighter than a spinning top over it. Londo considered that she had not grown up in the Royal Court, nor did she spend her every minute there. The palace still held some mysteriously magical qualities for the commoners, as evidenced by the crowds that attended the public audiences. Her nerves were almost laughable, considering the deep-seated feelings he still held for her.

After his hearts had been crushed by his father's commands, Londo had sought solace in an unending stream of lovers. He had been searching for Aryella in new incarnations since the moment they had parted, and once, just once, he had found someone who had reminded him of her so much. He had been able to capture a portion of the same intense and passionate rapture when Adira had entered his life, reminding him so much of Aryella, but he had lost Adira too, doubling his longing and his hurt. And now, like a ghost, Aryella appeared before him, unbidden and unbound to another.

"Of course, Aryella, I would not refuse a request such as this from you." He gazed at her a moment longer, sensing there was more to this request than she was telling him. "And what else?"

Aryella eyes flitted around the room as if she was watching her nerves squirm, but finally with a sigh, she quelled them. "They have no House," she met his eyes.

"Ah," Londo pushed himself back. _Now here was the heart of it then._ "You want me to grant them a title and a House, is that it? Perhaps you wish that I would adopt them into my own?"

Aryella found her confidence now that matter had been aired. "Yes, I wish them better prospects in life. Puck has great ambition, and it is soured by his status as a commoner. And Turo – his spirit is a tender one, and it is often trampled by his status as well." She twisted her hands in nervousness.

"Well," Londo's voice became gentle. "It is a mother's right and privilege to try to better the lot of her children. But this request, I will not grant. A title is a method of collecting taxes, and we are all in a difficult time, including the Royal Treasury. I cannot grant lands and titles in a time of such desperate need, and I do not think," he cast an eye at her wardrobe, "that they are wealthy enough to bear a title's burdens. But most importantly, if I were to adopt them into my own House as young men, they will be seen as potential heirs, and they will have lethal bullseyes immediately marked on their backs. And anyway, a House is like wearing a corset of duty at all times. You think that a title will change their lives, but what they have now is infinitely more valuable – their freedom. Now, let us speak no more of this, but let us attend to your first request. Where are they?"

Aryella's shoulders collapsed ever so slightly before she glanced about nervously. "I do not know. They wanted to stroll around the grounds, but they should have been at the public audience. I did not see them there, so now I do not know what has happened to them."

Londo called a guard, and Aryella described the young men. The guard's eyes grew wider, and he leaned into Londo's ear, whispering something briefly. Londo groaned, looking extraordinarily annoyed before pinching his eyes for a moment. He waved one hand toward the door. "Go and get them and bring them here."

The guard snapped to attention before departing quickly.

"What's happened?" Aryella asked, her eyes darting after the guard.

Regarding the woman before him for a moment, Londo shook his head, withdrawing his brivari decanter. Without asking, he poured her a glass and then took a swig of his own before responding. "They got into some sort of a brawl with a few Prime Candidates on the palace grounds. They were thrown into holding cells. They will be brought here shortly."`

Londo pressed a button on his desk, calling Dunseny into the study. The elderly attendant entered, waiting patiently. "Dunseny," Londo rose, gesturing toward the woman, "You remember Aryella?"

The aged attendant had served Londo's father before coming to Londo's service, and Dunseny had been intimately familiar with the occurrences surrounding Londo's first marriage three decades before. The unflappable attendant allowed a knowing smile to creep into his features. "Yes, Majesty, Madam has always been unforgettable."

Londo eyebrows shot up at the attendant's slip, and he allowed himself a smile at Dunseny's words. Mollari asked for the evening schedule and glancing at it, he make a quick but firm decision. He had been imprisoned in this palace under the heel of the Drakh for years, and he would allow himself companionship this night, even if she harbored hidden hatred for him, and even if it would be at arm's length. His others wives had expressed their disgust and contempt far more openly, so he was sure he could deal with whatever Aryella might throw at him. And if the gods were going to send him a gift, he might as well enjoy it. If she was here to use him for her own ends, then he would find out soon enough, and in the meantime, he would have a brief respite from his desperately lonely moments.

As he considered his schedule, he knew the wagging tongues at the Royal Court would never stand for a commoner in rags at his side, so he pointed at the lady but looked to Dunseny. "You will ensure one of the aides takes her to the Empress's room. Timov left her wardrobe here when she left in haste, and, to my eye, they look about the same size. If nothing there is appropriate, ensure she finds something from the tailor for the evening."

Dunseny inclined his head, beckoning Aryella after him.

"But Londo," she put up a worried hand of protest. "What about my boys?"

"Go," he shooed her toward the door. "I will look after them until you return." She left without further protest, but she cast an anxious look over her shoulder as Dunseny ushered her out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aryella is mentioned (nameless) in two episodes: A Voice in the Wilderness, part 1 & The Long Night of Londo Mollari. His first marriage was his only marriage for love. He married a dancer and was forced by his family to divorce her.
> 
> Most of the words spoken by Londo's father are word-for-word reproductions of what Londo (later) tells the Centauri youths in the War Prayer when he is resigned to Centauri reality that marriages are arranged, not for love.


	3. Castor & Pollux

Minutes after Aryella had departed with Dunseny, deep voices hollered in the hallway outside the door to Londo's personal study.

"Where are we going?" came a loud protest. "Get your hands off of me, you tin-canned toy soldier! This sort of treatment is exactly why there is talk of armed resistance in the South." The door flung open, and two finely dressed young men stood before the Emperor, shock immediately evident in their eyes at the sight of Londo. Wherever they thought they were being taken, it was not to a private audience with the Emperor.

Puck regained his bearings immediately and bowed, "Excellency." Turo held the gaze of the Emperor for a beat longer before he dropped his eyes and bowed.

Londo irascibly glowered as he stood. "So, there is talk of armed resistance in the South?"

Turo rose slowly, his eyes darting as he threw a hand through his hair. "No, Majesty, I was..."

"Sit," Mollari cut him off coldly and pointed the two young men to empty chairs. As the men took their places, Mollari turned his annoyance toward the guard, "What happened?"

"They assaulted a group of Prime Candidates on the palace lawn, Excellency."

"A group?"

"Eight Prime Candidates were involved in the incident, Excellency."

"Eight?" Londo said with incredulity. "They needed one for each limb?"

The Guard nodded.

"Go," Londo motioned the guard toward the door. The guard's eyes darted to the two young men for a moment as if to warn the Emperor of their impetuousness, but he acquiesced to the command.

Londo studied the young men for a moment. They were in their late twenties, at most. The dark-haired man had a pale complexion but an upright and dignified bearing. He held his shoulders like a military cadet at a review, and his expression was guarded but suitably impressed. His brother, on the other hand, slouched rebelliously, tossing his ruffled crest back with a hand every few minutes. Londo noticed both men's eyes held notes of the same emerald color as Aryella's, but the young man with the sundrenched complexion had a noticeably unruly demeanor entirely lacking in his mother, though he had the good sense to quell it under the Emperor's gaze. Londo watched as the pale man elbowed his brother with a nasty jab, and his brother immediately rectified the slouch into an alert sitting position.

The Emperor circled his desk and took his chair as he found his glass of brivari again. "Well, I've heard the guard's account. What is yours?"

Puck edged forward in his chair. "My brother, Turo, noticed that a young woman was being accosted by two young men in black uniforms. They would not leave her alone when she resisted their advances. My brother is known for his hotheadedness. He may have overreacted when they refused to apologize for their actions."

Londo narrowed his eyes and directed his attention toward Turo. "Is this true?"

Turo dropped his eyes, nodding. "They were not gentlemen, Majesty, regardless of how they were dressed. And, rather than defend the lady's honor, six of their friends joined in when I tried to correct the situation. So, my older brother, Puck, joined me in warding them off. He may look like a stiff know-it-all, but he is also a boxer with a mean left cross, so for him, being hard-headed can come in handy. It was a worthy fight, if nothing else. We lost, but if I may be so bold, I think we sowed the lawn with their teeth."

Mollari raised an eyebrow at this. "Out of respect for your mother, I will release you, and I will deal with the Prime Candidates later. Until then, stay out of their way. If you see something like that again, you will inform the guards, not take it upon yourself to start a war on the palace grounds. Are we clear?"

Puck nodded smartly, and Turo frowned like a fuming child being chastised, but he finally nodded reluctantly.

Mollari leaned back in his office chair. He was annoyed with the circumstances, but secretly, he was pleased that the men had not let such an incident pass without intervention, and he was even more thrilled that someone stood up to the intimidation and harassment of the idiotic Prime Candidates, the pet project of Prime Minister Durla and Minister Lione.

Mollari cast his eyes over the men's clothing. Although he already knew the answer, he asked, "And to what House do you belong?"

The men glanced at each other for an instant before Puck responded. "No House, Majesty."

"Well," the Emperor smiled at them, "They are overrated dynasties of heathens and back-stabbing idiots anyway. Consider yourself lucky to be free of the burden of carrying the name of one on your backs."

At that, the young men both managed a smile, and Puck answered for them both, "Yes, Excellency."

Londo sipped his brivari again before he quietly nodded toward their clothing. "But since you are not members of a noble House, you would do better not to wear the adornments of nobility," he motioned to the pins each wore on the handsomely tailored silk coats embellished with decadent open collars. "House Cavelleto and House Micah would be displeased to know that they are being represented in palace fights without the chance to respond to the perpetrators with dueling invitations."

The men's eyes grew wider, and they each snapped the pins off their lapels, placing them on the desk quietly.

Londo watched them in silence, a bemused look on his face before he swirled his remaining brivari. At the sight of his diminishing drink, he pressed the button on his desk again, and Dunseny arrived with a bottle. "Another 2248 vintage, Excellency?" Londo nodded, and Dunseny generously poured the brown liquid into crystal tumblers for both the Emperor and his guests. "Now, your mother tells me that you have been pestering her about the palace for some time. So, here you are." He gestured expansively at his study.

Turo's grin spread across his face as he tried the brivari. "This brivari is excellent, Your Majesty." He let the smooth, burning liquor slide down his throat before he nonchalantly added, "Mother told us that she taught you to dance. We did not believe her, and we set a wager upon the answer."

Londo snorted, "And what wager is that?"

The men glanced at each other. Puck inched forward on his chair, his back like a ramrod. "Nothing, Excellency, really. It was a trivial matter. But is it true?"

"Yes," Londo glanced toward the door. "But it was so long ago, I have forgotten how to dance again. She was an exceptional ballroom dancer and the finest dance partner that I have ever had the pleasure to know. Did she teach you?"

Puck and Turo exchanged glances again. "No," Puck looked back at the Emperor. "She said that she quit dancing before we were born. After she had us, she was too busy, and to be quite honest, our father had two left feet. He really couldn't have danced himself out of a box if his life depended on it."

Turo threw his hands out in a gesture to stop. "No, no, Puck, that's not why." He leaned in toward the Emperor. "She showed us some steps when we were 5 or 6, and she broke down crying. She said to us, 'Boys, if you are lucky, you will find one partner who is like your mirror – a perfect reflection of you.' And then she said the man who had been her reflection had died before we were born, and she had given up dancing with partners because she was always searching to find what she had already lost."

"Oh yes," Puck broke in, "I remember. She said she had met him while giving him dance lessons, but he had died. Do you know, Excellency, what students of hers have died? I have long wondered for whom she carried that torch."

Londo felt the air evaporating around him. He never really contemplated the repercussions of his actions so long ago. He had merely pushed them to the locked trunk of his memory, allowing himself to polish off such treasures only when the warmth of brivari and melancholy gave him the keys. He had never considered what destruction he might have left in his wake. "Urza Jaddo was a good friend, and he departed this world for the next some years ago now. I, myself, watched them spend hours together dancing. Perhaps it was him." Londo did not think Urza would mind bearing his deflections, _rest his soul_.

Turo flashed his signature lopsided grin. "You see Puck, if we'd been born to House Jaddo, you could have pursued your dream of becoming an officer in His Majesty's service, and I could have whiled away my days sculpting naked beauties."

Puck snorted, "You spend your days sculpting anyway."

"I cannot afford the naked models, and they are the only objects that inspire me." Turo protested. "These days all I sculpt is fruit, and my stomach wishes I could eat it."

Londo took in this information grimly. The southern provinces were in desperate straits, and the possibility of famine was not far off. Pushing the thoughts of famine in the South to the back of his mind, he asked, "You are an artist then, Turo?" he asked.

"I do a little of this, a little of that," Turo replied.

Puck snorted, "He is being too modest, Majesty. He is a brilliant sculptor. He crafts the most beautiful statues in marble. He has a terrible flaw, though, he takes commissions and then inevitably sculpts his latest bewitching mistress, and then he smashes it the moment the lady casts him aside, landing him in jail for stealing the money from the commission."

Feeling the brivari on his empty stomach already, Turo whispered mischievously. "I have another, even greater talent, Majesty."

"Turo," Puck growled, glancing nervously at the Emperor. "You will get our heads placed on a pike."

Curious, Londo swirled his brivari nonchalantly, "What is this talent, Turo?"

Turo leaned forward, his eyes glazing from the brivari slightly. "Anything you need copied, Majesty, I am your man. I am the most talented forger you will ever meet. You must have talent greater than the original to reproduce brilliance, and with the right materials, I can create flawless duplicates." He threw back the rest of his brivari. "You will say that I am a thief, but if I may be so bold to suggest, Majesty, it is an underappreciated art."

Londo found the boy amusing in his sincerity and apparent naiveté. He didn't have the look of a hardened criminal. Not yet, anyway. "I have some paintings that were damaged in the bombings a few years ago. Perhaps you could bend your talents toward repairs rather than forgery?"

Turo cracked his knuckles with sureness, "Majesty," his tone was proud. "It is not repairing the original in its original style that is difficult. It is perfectly recreating the damage in a new piece that is a challenge. And I like nothing better than a challenge worthy of my talents."

Puck clapped his brother on the back of the head, "Turo, behave! You are speaking to the Emperor like he is one of your miscreant chums. It is inappropriate." Turning to Londo, Puck smiled apprehensively, "I'm sorry, Excellency. My brother...he cannot help himself sometimes."

Londo waved his hand, "It is all right. It is refreshing to hear a young man being a young man again; although let us be clear, I do not condone forgery and theft." Noticing the pale young man's rough hands, Londo asked. "And you, Puck, what is your occupation?"

"I am an architect, but I am also a carpenter in my spare time. My father taught me his trade, and sent me to school for my own. I would have entered your service, Your Excellency, but architecture is restricted to officers, so I went into private practice in Porto."

Londo tapped on his desk good-naturedly, "Very good, I hardly run across anyone anymore who can build something with their own hands. You should be proud of your skills, Puck. The Republic needs more men like you. Men who can do something instead of spouting hot air as an occupation."

"His architecture is the talk of Porto, but unfortunately, it is under the names of others," Turo interrupted. "Because he is not a noble, he cannot gain full status as an architect in his own right, even though the biggest firms in Porto have adopted his designs under their own names. He survives on their scraps as an apprentice, although truth be told, he has practically designed the skyline, and they have more than made their money off of him."

"I see," Londo said thoughtfully as he watched Puck sip his brivari more slowly than his brother. "So tell me, Puck, what do you think of the Capital City's skyline these days?"

Puck cast his eyes around the room nervously, before finding an adequate response. "The Capital City's skyline has always been a beautiful one, Excellency."

Londo sensed the boy found something displeasing and was trying desperately to sidestep the topic "And our new public work, Puck, what do you think of it? The eh...what are they calling it, the 'Tower of Power?'"

Puck's face paled. "It is very...high, but the design lacks finesse, Excellency."

Londo laughed as he saw the man trying to find anything good to say about it, "Come, Puck, tell me what you _really_ think of it."

"Forgive my boldness, sire, but it is perhaps the single ugliest building I have ever laid eyes upon. It diminishes your city's beauty rather than augmenting it. It has no windows nor decorations, it is a monolith to..." Puck paused, wondering if he should go on.

"Yes?" Londo beckoned.

"It is a monolith to the ego of a visionless dunce." Puck's knuckles were white while he waited for a response. "I mean the architect's ego, Excellency, not yours, of course."

Londo took a slow sip of brivari, allowing the man to wonder if he would keep his head before he finally responded with the hint of smile. "I agree with you, Puck." He felt his words belaying the man's tensions. "It is a monstrosity. Sadly, in this case, it is function over form that is required. If times were better," he fingered his glass as he thought of the desperate straits of Centauri Prime, "perhaps we could think about form as well as function. Tell me," he raised his glass toward the young men, "are you married?"

Turo shook his head, but Puck replied, "I was, Your Excellency. I'm afraid my wife and daughter were killed in the bombings by the Alliance."

Londo grimaced at the news. "I am sorry to hear that."

"I am sorry to tell it," the dark-haired man cast his eyes at the ground.

"And," curiosity finally got the better of Londo, "your father is not here?"

Puck squared his shoulders, "No, Your Excellency. Our mother only married the once. He was a primary school teacher. He was very patient with us. My mother called him a saint many, many times. And, considering Turo is still alive and not in prison, it must be true. He was a simple man, but he was always kind and generous, and he doted on our mother. I don't know how he would have managed through our late adolescence, though. He died 14 years ago, before our ascensions," Puck shifted his weight uncomfortably before adding, "It was a freighter accident."

Londo noted the young man's words. Apparently Aryella had also made the entire affair of their marriage disappear from her past. Londo rose and crossed the desk to pat their shoulders, "I am sorry for the loss of your father. You have lost much in your short time. I am sad to say that all of our people have lost much these past few years. At least we may console each other, yes?"

Puck nodded, "Yes, Your Excellency." He paused before venturing into uncharted waters. "Excellency, you have been married several times. And it is said you have known many women in your day. We are still searching for the love of our loves. What guidance can you give us? Did you ever find the love of your life?"

As Londo swallowed a swig of brivari, a coughing fit overcame him. "The love of my life?" He calmed his hearts. "Well, although love has little to do with marriage, you know that I am yet married so…."

"But Majesty, the Empress committed treason against you."

"Yes," Londo gazed at the floor for a moment, recalling his duplicity in those events. "Your question assumes that there can only be one love of a man's life. But the very physiology of a Centauri male suggests that we may love six, yes?" His laugh shook the room before it tapered off.

"I have loved many women, and many women have loved me. In that, I may say I have been most fortunate. But if I must be honest, I agree with the implication of your statement. It is difficult to please one woman, let alone six, or even two. That is quite impossible, even though your body will tell you otherwise. We even have two hearts, but in truth, they serve different functions. Yes, there is always _one_ women who delights more than the others. _One_ who you yearn for when others irritate you. Or, if you are very foolish, the one you let get away. When I was younger, my friends used to tell me that I found a new love of my life every other day, for I pursued them all with great vigor. But, for me, there was _one_ love of my life. And I let her go at the moment I had caught her. So, if you find her," Londo leaned forward cautioning the men with a wagging finger. "If you find the love of your life, make every sacrifice to keep her because that is the only one you get. You will always wonder what might have been, if your regrets had not turned into sorrows, and your sorrows had not spoiled the fruits of your heart."

As if on cue, Dunseny's knock interrupted the conversation, and he appeared with Aryella behind him. As she stepped around the attendant, her appearance inspired the three men to stand. She had been transformed by trading in her common clothing for a simple yet elegant brocaded emerald silk gown that flowed over each curve of her figure and highlighted her eyes. With a mere change of clothes, the years had melted from her, and now her radiance was highlighted by the small jewels that dripped down the neckline plunging toward the high waist of the gown. The stunning sight knocked the wind out of Londo, and he could not quite believe the amount of years that had passed since he had last seen her.

"Exquisite," Londo beckoned her inside. Mollari considered at that moment, that he was free from his father now, and he could have this woman that he had so treasured and desired, his first true love, the woman that had treated him with respect and love. He could unilaterally take her as his wife or his concubine – he was, after all, the Emperor now, and he did not need even her permission. But in the same instant, he dismissed the idea. He could no more take her as his wife than receive forgiveness for what he had done to her, for the Drakh still commanded his body and haunted his mind. He would not condemn anyone else to their black torture, even from a distance. And he would never take her without her consent. He doubted she would come voluntarily, for she must harbor revulsion for him in her hearts after all of these cold and cruel years. Furthermore, he knew that without an overt advance, she would never dare to rekindle something taken from her by the Emperor himself. Thus, the matter was closed sooner than it had opened, and he unconsciously marked it with another gravestone in the recessed areas of his mind.

Clearing his throat and shaking himself out of the momentary stupor her sight had caused, Londo pointed out the young men to her. "They seem to have left the battlefield no worse for the wear." As his elderly attendant turned to exit, Londo stopped him after waving to his guests to retake their seats.

"Dunseny, I am going to send a gift of brivari home with each of these young men." He turned to Puck. "What is your year of birth?"

"2240, Excellency."

"Very good, Dunseny, one bottle of vintage 2240 and ..." he pointed to Turo, "What year were you born, Turo?"

"2240, Majesty."

Londo blinked, his finger still pointed at Turo. "But eh," he turned back to Puck, "you..." The gears in his brain were trying to work out the discrepancy. "Is one of you adopted? Or one was born at the beginning of the year or...?" He glanced at Aryella who had a curious expression on her face.

"No, Majesty," Turo grinned. "We are twins."

"Great Maker! You two are twins?" Disbelief crawled over the Emperor's face as he fell back into his chair at the news.

Puck sat straighter in his chair. "I know it is difficult to believe, Excellency, but it is true. I try to forget it myself, sometimes."

"But eh," the Emperor still could not quite wrap his brain around this revelation. He looked at Turo and pointed to Puck, "You said he was older?"

Puck took over the conversation again, "I am the older brother, Excellency, but it is only by minutes, not years as many presume."

Londo sat back with his brivari, fascinated with the development. "It is rare among Centauri to see twins. Very rare. Myself, I have only known of one pair of twins. My great great uncle had twins, but one died at birth, so it was not to be. It is a great honor for your parents – the gods blessed them." He tipped his glass toward Aryella.

Turo laughed. "Our poor father, though, he had to hear that old wives' tale about twins so many times. He was a rather good sport about it, I thought. Do you know it, Majesty?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Londo distractedly waved Dunseny over to refresh their glasses. Popular Centauri legend held that men fathering twins expended a man's potency. If he was lucky enough to have twins, he could be sure that he would have no more children after that.

As Dunseny was refilling the glasses, Londo noticed the slightly quizzical look on the old man's rarely ruffled face. Londo asked, "What year did you say again?"

"2240, Majesty."

"2240," he repeated slowly. "Dunseny, two bottles of 2240."

The old man looked at him, his face having returned to the blank sheet he always dutifully wore, but he was blinking fast, bespeaking tumultuous thoughts just below the surface.

"Boys," Aryella seemed relieved to see them, but she clearly wanted to have a private word with Londo. "Will you wait outside?"

Mollari narrowed his eyes at the breach in protocol, but he did not protest as the young men removed themselves from his presence.

Standing, Londo leaned against the desk, waiting patiently for her to say whatever was on her mind, for clearly there was something she was reluctant to tell him, and he was even more reluctant to make any sense of what it might be. As the minutes ticked by uncomfortably, finally he nudged her, "What is it, Aryella?"

At last, she gazed at him with intensity. "They are 28, Londo."

"Yes, my brain can still perform basic math." Mollari stared at her. "What of it?"

Aryella waited without response. It took Londo a moment to factor in the years since they had been married and the additional 10.5 months of Centauri gestation before he stumbled backward. "No, no, no," he shook his head and waved his hands. "That is quite impossible. They just said their father died when they were 14."

"I married again rather quickly, I admit. I had to find someone that would be a father to the children I carried without raising suspicion. Enzo had followed me from club to club, like a puppy would follow his master. In that sense, he reminded me of you. He had been watching me at the club for months before I met you, and, more importantly, he was willing to wed the moment I came to him. He never knew they were not his own."

There was surprise and shock in Londo's eyes. It was impossible that he could have fathered a child – let alone two children – with her. "It is not possible, Aryella," he shook his head, falling into his office chair. He could feel the beads of sweat on his brow. "You could not have gotten pregnant. We were very careful."

"No," she did not meet his eyes, "We were very foolish. And, I thought, in love. You were not careful our wedding night, Londo. Nor were you carefully any of the days or nights we were married. It is biology that dictates such things, Londo, not our carefree wishes and desires."

For the second time that day, the ambient sounds faded away and Londo could only hear his dual hearts drumming in his head and his breaths coming faster and faster. He downed another glass of brivari before refilling it himself. "You are doing this to get even with me," he mumbled, refilling the tumbler.

The touch of her hand on his glove stopped him in his tracks, "Turo and Puck are your sons, Londo."

It was her words that seemed to set his Keeper tingling, and at that moment, the immensity of the situation rained down on Londo's head. He knew, regardless of the truth or falsity of her statement, there would be consequences. Dire consequences. The young men would become puppets in the Drakh's game or they would die slow and gruesome deaths. They would be pawns used against him in the ongoing chess match with the Drakh, or, at best, they would be targeted lethally by their fellow Centauri as the heirs to Mollari's throne.

"You do not know what you have done," he whispered.

Londo threw back another glass of brivari and refilled it again, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. Anger filled his face. Anger at what he had been reduced to by the Drakh. Anger at what would happen to this woman and her sons. Anger if…. He couldn't even bear to think of what he had lost if what she said was true. With a deep and harsh tone, the brittle notes of warning underscored his question, "This is why you came? It was not to show them the palace or find a House for them. You came to spring this surprise of lies upon me?"

Aryella blinked. She had never encountered this man – this angry, hard man before her. Her determination faltered for a moment before she squared her shoulders again. "That's not true. If you had not discovered their year of birth and that they were twins, I would have walked away. I wanted so much for them to meet you. Still they do not know that we were ever married. I hid it from them, but they have lost much, and now I am their only family. But, truly, they deserve to know their father, Londo."

Desperately trying to convince both himself and the Keeper, Londo shoved his words through clenched teeth. "They _are not my sons_." After another shot of brivari, he continued, "You would have told me years ago. You think that if they are my sons, one will become heir to the throne. But you are mistaken. They are _not my sons_."

In a quiet but determined voice, Aryella met his furious gaze without backing down. "I am not mistaken. You are their father. And if you will not admit it, I will bring them before the Royal Court and demand that you publicly acknowledge them. I am trying to spare you from that humiliation, but if you leave me no alternative, I will do what has to be done because it is their right."

"This is blackmail," Londo felt sick, and he wiped the sweat from his brow again. The damage was already done. The Keeper had already relayed all of this information to the Drakh. The reality was, he was certain someone would be dead before dawn. He just did not know who it would be.

_To be continued..._


	4. Weakness or Wisdom

Londo squeezed his throbbing temples and closed his eyes as a hurricane of emotions was breaking over him.

Londo had always been too busy with his career to seriously consider children, and when he had passing flirtations with the thought of children, he immediately remembered his three demanding wives, and he quickly pushed the idea as far from his mind as possible. Besides, he was head of House Mollari, and he had watched his brother's agony at what had happened to Carn, his nephew. In addition, Londo was the protectorate for House Jaddo, and he had taken Senna Refa in as his ward, so his extended household was already large enough, and he didn't feel any need to swell the ranks with his own gene pool. Nevertheless, there was that nagging feeling somewhere, far back in his mind, that wondered what he might have missed. Now, he was faced with a very clear reality of exactly what he had missed. And yet, if what she said was true, he had missed it all. He felt the claw of uncontrollable sadness reaching up through his chest and pulling him into despair.

Londo felt the warmth of the brivari he had downed so quickly loosening his muscles, and he knew Aryella was watching him closely, but he needed time to think, a luxury he did not have. He assumed that she had known she was pregnant on the day when he had delivered his father's ultimatum. It explained her reticence and her disappearance for three decades, for she had been carrying a secret – two secrets, in fact. If only Aryella had told him of the boys' existence long ago, he could have _changed_ things. He would have forced his father to see reason. He would have seen her in secret, _something_. Instead, she had married the first man she could convince to provide her and the boys with a modicum of financial security. He had locked away the memories of their marriage long ago, but daily, she had lived with the reality of their brief life together. The pangs of guilt were overwhelming.

He could only guess at why she would approach him now, long after he had become Prime Minister and several years into his reign as Emperor. Her situation had become desperate or, perhaps, she really did care that the boys met their biological father.

He wiped his face with a hand, and finally he opened his eyes, seeing her brilliant green ones staring back at him. _Twins_. Well, he was the embodiment of the _puissance_ of the Centauri people, after all, so it was somehow fitting that he should be granted one of the rarer gifts of Centauri biology. He managed an amused grunt at the thought. Still, doubt wound its way through his mind. It was all _too_ convenient, and the old wives tale about the virility needed to produce twins was the perfect appeal to his ego as a Centauri male. His position made him a prime candidate for extortion, and she was in the perfect position to do it.

Mollari studied Aryella's features. While he had not seen her in three decades, he did not believe she was capable of this kind of coercion of her own accord. There were a number of Centauri who would not hesitate to conjure up such a thing, including two of his former wives, but it was not like Aryella to dream something like this up; nevertheless, she could be manipulated by outside forces if she felt threatened, and there was no way to tell if she was being used as a pawn by others. In his mind, there was only one possible course of action. And he would see it through to its bitter end, as he always did.

"Aryella, as the Emperor, there are great difficulties with the problem you have presented. If what you say is true, I cannot express how . . ." he fought for the right word, "devastated I am at the circumstances that have led to this moment. There are no words to adequately express the hand we have each been dealt. But, I must protect the Republic, which includes protecting my office, and this could pose grave challenges for me. So, we must definitively settle this for once and for all." As Aryella watched, Londo called down to the Royal Physician's office and asked him to come to Londo's study. As they waited for the physician to arrive, Londo told her, "The DNA test should be completed tonight. Until there is conclusive proof one way or the other, there is no reason to tell the boys of your claims in this matter."

Aryella tried to interrupt, but Londo cut her off, "No, this is my condition. They will not be informed of your beliefs in the matter until it is settled by science. Are we clear?"

Reluctantly and without any real choice in the matter, Aryella agreed.

Within minutes the Royal Physician had arrived to the Emperor's study. Londo waved the doctor in, and the guards closed the door again.

"Dr. Golgi," Londo pointed to one of the abandoned chairs, and Golgi took his seat. "We have a delicate situation. The circumstances will not leave this room, do you understand?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"There are two gentlemen waiting outside, and you will test their paternity as swiftly as possible. You will follow the standard protocol for such claims. It was last used under Cartagia who had several claims lodged against him. I wish you to follow it to the letter."

The physician glanced between the Emperor and the woman looking intently at him. Golgi licked his lips. "As you wish, Excellency."

"Good." Mollari called the young men back inside. Addressing them, he said, "Gentlemen, do you have any idea what is happening?"

The young men shrugged, curiosity in their eyes. Londo stared at the men for a moment and glanced at Aryella to confirm the young men were unaware of the circumstances before taking a breath, "I am, sadly, suffering from a rare medical condition. It is not fatal, but it certainly is uncomfortable, and your generous mother believes one of you may be an adequate fit to be a potential organ donor. So, we will run a little test and see. Frankly, the chances that either of you would be a match are very, very small, so I would not give it much of a thought, but I owe it to your mother to give her this piece of mind."

Puck grinned, "Oh, I didn't – didn't realize. Sure, do whatever you need to do, Excellency. I would not turn down a royal request if I had the means to fill it."

After glancing at his mother hesitantly, Turo offered, "Nor I, Your Majesty."

As the young men followed the Royal Physician down the stairs to the clinic to have the surreptitious tests run, Londo instructed the guard to find Senna and to tell her to escort the men after the physician had finished with them. "Tell her that she is to gather all the information she can on the young men," he quietly ordered the guard. "Discreetly," he emphasized. Then, Londo sent the guard off with a wave of his hand as he ventured back to his study.

Londo leaned against his desk, contemplating the woman before him. He still could not comprehend the immensity of the words Aryella had spoken to him. He wished desperately that the Keeper was not perched on his shoulder so that he could have a few minutes of candid conversation with her, but he knew that he would not be granted that luxury. He had only this. He stepped closer to her, "Aryella...?" He stretched the syllables in her name, letting them linger in the silence like a question.

"Sire?" she asked, waiting.

A chagrined look passed over Londo's face as he tried to discern if she meant the title as a double-edged pun, but she showed no sign of whether she intended for it to have two meanings or just the one. "Please, do not treat me as the emperor. Treat me as Londo, the man," he stated plaintively.

Her guarded words bespoke the emotion she kept hidden. "I do not think you would enjoy that."

Closing the gap between them, Londo let his own mask fall. "All day I am surrounded by people who fawn at me, and their sugarcoated words cover their true intentions. Just once, I would like to be Londo Mollari again, instead of the office I fill. And since that is the man you know, perhaps you could see it in your hearts to treat me without the trappings of my office."

As he spoke the last word, her hand flashed, and he snatched it out of midair, arresting its progress. As soon as he caught one hand, the other flashed toward his cheek, and he caught it with his other hand before it could land a slap. In an instant, his eyes blazed, "You dare accost the Emperor?"

A smile flickered over her face. "I thought I was assaulting Londo Mollari."

His eyes curled with amusement. _There_ was the tigress he knew who emerged in private. His head felt light, and the brivari he had just downed made him slightly dizzy. He could feel the electricity pulling their bodies together. Nevertheless, as the struggle in her arms melted away, he released her wrists and stepped back, a tight smile thinning his lips. "I have been waiting 30 years for that anger, Aryella. I knew it was there."

Tears welled in Aryella's eyes, "You got what you wanted, Londo."

"What do you mean?" He stared at her with concern.

She blinked away her tears. "Our marriage was a ploy to bed me. You succeeded, but you have no idea what it has cost me."

"Is that what you have thought, all this time?" he asked quietly. He thought back, wondering how the entire affair must have seemed to her, and he silently acknowledged that it would have been easy to misconstrue his intentions, considering how it had all ended. He took her hands gently and waited patiently, looking her in the eyes until she returned his gaze, "It was never like that. Our marriage was not a sham. I was young and haughty and quite full of myself, I admit. But I did not pursue you as a conquest. And I did not throw you aside at a whim. You do not understand what it would have been like to live under my father's thumb. If we had found happiness, he would have destroyed it to prove himself right, perhaps unconsciously. He was quite infamous for doing such things, even to himself."

Londo studied the woman before him. She said nothing in reply to his words, seeming to turn them over in her mind for consideration. Her presence made Londo feel as if his youthful past had somehow come to pay him a visit, to while away the years and the decisions that had led down the dark roads he now found himself on. There were things that stood between them, widening a chasm that was already as large as 30 years, but he had never thought that he would see her again, and her mere presence was a breath of fresh air from the stale and suffocating air of the palace.

The warmth of love he had always felt for her seized him from the inside, but trepidation, a foreign emotion he rarely registered since becoming emperor, flashed in his chest. "Perhaps . . . while your sons are downstairs with the physician, you would allow me the honor of taking you on a tour of the palace?" The seconds reached out, making his hearts beat faster with anticipation. She took her hands from his grasp, his brows drew together in unhappiness, and his hearts sank.


	5. The Embers Yet Burn

When Londo offered Aryella a personal tour of the palace, she hesitated, remembering how this man had torn her heart asunder so many years before. She had seen the darker sides of the nobility many times during her dance lessons, and she knew that Londo had been fighting a losing battle with his family, and to some extent, with himself. Although her heart had ached from the sting of his decision to choose his family and titles over her, she had also resigned herself to the guilt bred into her Centauri blood as she desperately clung to a noble when she, herself, was but a commoner. But despite these considerations, her motivation in removing herself completely from his life was based on the strength of her ideals and her deep-seated love for him. She had known that whereas Londo was adept in matters of politics, he was quite transparent in matters of the heart, and she knew any well-meaning attempt to see him would inevitably turn into a nightmare for him, ruining his family relations, career, and political ambitions. So, as painful as it might have been to her personally, she determined that she would not destroy his life for the sake of her own. And so, she had removed the crippling choice from his life by silently disappearing into folds of Centauri society.

Now he was the Emperor, and the light of hope blossomed in her chest. He could have whatever he desired, though the pangs of guilt still clawed at her whenever she considered the ramifications of such a match for him.

As she withdrew her hands from his, she saw the physical deflation of his body and the cautious look of optimism flickering across his face replaced by the silent look of dejection.

With that one look of heartrending melancholy by a man who could command the world, whatever inhibitions she had in seeing him again melted, and she took his arm in a signal that she was ready for the proposed tour, though it was a violation of the rule that the Emperor not be touched without his proffered consent. "I would like that," she told him quietly. She saw the unhappiness melt from his face, replaced with relief that he had these few moments with her company.

Straightening to his full height and without a word on the breach of decorum, Londo compounded it by opening the door for her. From that moment on, she noticed he disobeyed the rather rigid Centauri tenet that, except for guards ensuring a room's security, the Emperor enter first, with his wives, staff, and citizens trailing meekly in his wake. Rather, Mollari reverted to his manners as a nobleman instead of his position as Emperor, benevolently beckoning her to enter each room in front of him.

She could tell that she was not the only one who noticed this. The army of courtiers in the palace halls followed their movements, eyes wide and mouths agape, and they whispered in hushed tones behind her back. Though she was dressed in elegance, she could not help but feel like a naked commoner in front of the eyes following her. Apparently Londo was not immune to her nervous distraction, for as she met his eyes, he flagged the nearby guards.

"Clear the hallways," he commanded.

Turning back to her, he smiled and whispered, "I want you all to myself."

He had always done gracious things like that - deflecting her anxiety as if he was indulgently solving his own problem. She wondered how long it would take the tabloids to seize on his generosity and hurt him through endless petty remarks. She knew that if Londo was ostentatious and demonstrative, underneath his bravado, he was also easily wounded.

They strolled down the deserted hallways, accompanied only by the resounding echoes of their footsteps. Londo introduced Aryella to entire wings of the palace dedicated to historical and art displays of the Republic with long arrays of statues and portraits of long dead emperors, and he would periodically stop before the endless rows of royal portraits and regal her with stories of emperors past and the intrigues of the Royal Court.

They wound through several wings of Centauri art until they arrived in a small gallery off one of the main wings, and Londo stopped before one painting depicting the violence of a storm tearing through the Southern coast's beaches.

"Tell me," he clasped his hands behind his back. "Do you still indulge in a bottle of wine at the beach when there is a hurricane?"

Aryella blushed, "How do you remember that?"

"When it comes to you, I remember everything," he said self-assuredly.

She felt heat spreading through her cheeks. "I think I had already drank the whole bottle of wine before I got to the beach. I was even more tipsy when I told you about it."

"So," Londo's eyebrows shot up, "you have not done it again?"

Aryella threw a hand over her smile. "Oh, it is embarrassing, Londo, to admit this, but I go every time Porto has a bad storm. It has become something of a bad habit. I can't help it. I love feeling the raw fury of the gods. I love to see the waves crashing and the wrath of the wind. The more it rains, and the more violent the fury of the storm, the more I'm reminded that the gods have the same passions as us, and sometimes they cannot keep it bound inside their breast, and they must also release it into the world."

Londo grunted as if he had expected this answer, but shook his head at last. "I wonder how the gods allow such a delicate body as yours to withstand pummeling rain without hypothermia?"

"Well," she clasped her hands together, turning back toward the painting. "Without a little excitement, it would all be rather dull, and that would defeat the whole purpose."

Londo furrowed his brow in disapproval, "And what if the ocean swallows you whole?"

Aryella bit her lip as she gazed as the foaming sea in the painting, "That would be quite a death, I think. It would be as if the god of the ocean reached out and invited me to his palace under the sea, and I would not deny him such a beautiful request."

Londo considered this for a moment. "Perhaps you have already seen such a thing in your death dream, and you are awaiting the invitation."

Aryella looked strangely at Londo. "How do you know what is in my death dream?"

Londo rocked back on his heels slightly. "I do not know what is in your death dream. But I remember the nightmares that plagued you in the middle of the night, and your endless fascination with the sea. It is not impossible to unravel what it might be."

Aryella's thoughts drifted to her death dream, floating in the water's deadly clasp, her final capitulation to her mortal struggle, and the peace of seeing her own life drift away on the tide. She did not know if nature had dragged her in, if she had voluntarily offered herself, or if, gods forbid, someone else had pushed her into her watery tomb. "Maybe I enjoy taunting the gods," she said whimsically.

Londo chuckled. "I see that your inner fire is yet burning. But I have it on some authority that you no longer dance. So how is it you release your passion these days besides flirting with the gods themselves?"

Dodging his question, Aryella answered enigmatically. "Perhaps I live vicariously through the passions of others now."

Londo bounced on his toes for a moment before voicing his firm disagreement. "No. I don't believe it."

Aryella thought about his question for a moment longer. "I always loved music. That's why I enjoyed dancing. So, I tried singing to let it take my soul where once my body used to take me."

Londo searched the ceiling, as if listening to the long distant echoes of her voice. "Your voice would make an excellent soprano. Do you sing the arias of Durza?"

"Oh Londo," Aryella chastised him, "you used to tease me endlessly about my voice. Don't try to pretend that you like it now."

Londo let a deep rumbling laugh fill the gallery. "Only because your voice was too good to be true." He leaned toward her as if to tell a secret, "It is the way I throw others off your scent, my dear. You are so quiet until one gets to know you, so no one knows that you have such a beautiful voice. Can you blame me if I tell them it is jarring and shrill, so that any man who meets you does not try to pursue you?" Londo grinned with the air of a man that has outsmarted everyone.

"You have the voice of a Pak'ma'ra," he boomed as he tried to take her hands, but she resisted.

"A Pak'ma'ra? Londo!" Displeased at being likened to the carrion eaters of the universe, Aryella balled her hands into fists.

"Oh no, this will not do." Londo swept her into a firm embrace before she could accost him with her fists. "It was a compliment, my darling."

Aryella wiggled momentarily, trying to free herself, but her arms were pinned against his chest, so she resigned herself to glaring at Londo.

"I am only trying to save your life before you mistakenly accost the Emperor of the Centauri Republic in front of the guards, and they decide they must drag you away," he chuckled.

"Let me go," she protested as she tried to squirm away.

"Is it safe, my tigress?" he asked lightly.

She leaned in until she was whispering directly into his ear. "Probably not." But she, too, felt the pull of their bodies falling toward each other.

He chuckled again, at last releasing her.

"And anyway," she straightened her dress. "Singing didn't agree with me. I loved dancing because I could lose myself in it. It didn't matter where I was or who I was with. But I can barely speak in front of a crowd of ten people that I don't know, let alone in front of 40 billion Centauri like you, Londo. I can command my body's movements because the music pulses in my veins, but my voice falters in fear every time there is an audience." She shrugged, shaking off the memories of her short-lived attempts as a singer.

Londo watched her with a soft gaze. "It pains me that you no longer dance. It brings out your natural self-assurance and poise. You have never been shy when you're dancing."

Aryella cast her eyes at the floor. "I don't know how you live here, Londo, with the entire Republic watching your every move. It is nerve-wracking seeing all these eyes that follow you – even now, when we are alone." She nodded toward the guards stationed nearby.

Londo offered his gloved hand, and she took it as he placed his other hand behind his back, and they strolled toward the room's entrance. "You do not need to worry about anyone else here, Aryella," he gently reminded her as he gestured expansively with his other hand. "This is my house." He pulled her hand closer and kissed it. "And anyone else will judge you at the peril of their own necks," he added wryly.

They resumed their tour of the palace. As Londo guided Aryella through the most spectacular rooms of the palace, the stilted pensiveness built up by 30 years apart that Aryella felt began to dissipate, and a warmness spread as they enjoyed each other's company once again. Aryella realized this was due to Londo's flagrant disregard for the amount of time that had passed and the events that had transpired since their parting. She did not know if he was purposefully ignoring the passage of time to set her at ease or if he had frozen his feelings at their parting, but she could feel genuine contentment emanating from him. On the other hand, she was keenly aware of all that had passed in those long and brutal years, but any anger she had harbored over the abrupt end of their fateful marriage had faded long ago, and she felt herself succumbing to his demonstrative charms all over again.

Londo guided Aryella to the Emperor's private gardens which were tucked behind terraced walls off the palace lawn. Beckoning a servant to his side, he ordered the attendant to return with a shiraz highlighted by the notes of spiced lady plums. "Have the Royal Sommelier find something appropriate," he called after the servant. "Something from my private cellar." Ten minutes later, the servant had returned with the Emperor's brivari and the glass of the wine he had commanded for Aryella.

After she sipped it reflectively, Londo gestured toward the shiraz and asked, "What do you think?"

"Oh," she said teasingly as she watched the ruby droplets running down the inside of her glass, "It's all right, I suppose."

Londo's brow furrowed with mock disapproval and puffed up his chest. "You are impugning the Royal Sommelier and by extension, myself." He turned to the servant in feigned crossness. "The lady is displeased with this choice. Fetch the sommelier, and have him bring a selection of his finest wines."

Aryella's teasing smile faded. "Londo, I did not mean…."

Londo silenced her with a sweeping hand and a bemused glint in his eye. "Nonsense, we shall find something you like."

Within minutes, the Royal Sommelier had arrived, a line of bottles at his command, and over the course of the next half hour, he walked Aryella though the intricacies and notes of each wine. Even with a small sampling of each wine, in short order, tipsiness was starting to overtake her.

"Londo, I cannot sample fine wines all day, you will have to mop me from the ground if we continue like this."

The bemused look on his face seemed to imply he might not be displeased with this outcome. He responded, "Then, have you found one that you enjoy?"

With a glance at the Royal Sommelier, Aryella tried to hide a smile. "I must admit, the first one was by far the best."

"Very good," Londo clasped his hands behind his back in a stern and diplomatic pose. "He shall keep his head."

Aryella whispered to the sommelier. "Please forgive His Excellency. He is trying to show off."

Londo snorted and waved at the sommelier to keep her bottle of choice at the ready. Then he turned, strolling with Aryella even deeper into the gardens. "If I cannot show off for the lady of my choice, then what good is being Emperor?"

"You do not need to show off for me. I am already fittingly awestruck. What more do you want?"

Londo's warm smile faded away, replaced by a tentative thoughtfulness. He stopped walking and turned toward her. "I want you to forgive me."

Aryella brushed off his entreaty lightly. "It is useless to dwell on the past, Londo. It is already gone. I forgave you long ago, in my own way." She began to walk again, but he caught her arm, spinning her around.

A plea was written on his face. "Please, Aryella, forgive me for the past but also for what I may do in the future. To know that hate did not emanate from your heart would give me solace."

Londo's words jolted Aryella out of romantic bliss, and the desperation in his question shook her into sobriety. She searched his eyes and found an earnest entreaty and the hints of a warning. She knew there was something ominous in his words. "If you hurt either of my children, I will _never_ forgive you," she said quietly. "If you must hurt someone, hurt me."

Londo's face darkened with injury as his shoulders collapsed. "I would never wish to hurt you, Aryella. Neither you, nor your sons."

Aryella noted his words, but she also noted how he continued to distance himself from the reality she had so abruptly presented to him with the revelations about her sons. It was understandable, but it also pained her, the way he was diplomatically choosing his words.

Londo's posture took on a more measured stiffness. "Tell me, Aryella, what is the most important thing when you are raising children? It is providing for them? Ensuring they have enough to eat? Is it their security? Is it providing an education for them?"

Aryella wondered at the oddness of his question, but she answered truthfully. "I think it is love. From love stems all of these other things."

Londo seemed to consider this at length as they walked in silence. Finally, he softly replied. "There is a theory of interstellar conflict that suggests nothing thrives without security. Without security, life is merely a desperate struggle for survival. It is like leaving a child in the middle of a busy street. Food, water, shelter, education, even love – what good are they if you know with certainty the child will be struck and killed before the day is out?" He gestured expansively, "It is like our own Centauri Prime. When we were bombed by the Alliance, we made great sacrifices and struck terrible bargains to ensure security for our people. But these bargains," he paused for some moments, his gaze distant, before continuing, "were necessary evils to ensure there was a future for the Centauri Republic."

"You know I am telling the truth," she said quietly. "I have never lied to you."

"Aryella, _please_ ," Londo held up a hand, "You have either lied to your sons or you have lied to me. If what you say is true, then we will know shortly, and we will have all the time in the world to discuss it. But for now, let me enjoy a captivating night with a beautiful woman who I have not seen in so long. Every fleeting moment is another I cannot recapture in this rather desolate fortress, so let me take advantage of the warmth and splendor of your company."

He waited patiently, gazing at Aryella until she acquiesced. When she did so, he offered his arm before he clasped his hands behind his back, and he led her to a robust rosebush sunning itself in seclusion from the other plants in the Emperor's Garden. Its buds cascaded teardrops of color down the fragile stems. Londo plucked one of the plant's mature roses with his free hand. "Have you heard of these? They are a variety of Centauri rose called 'Tears of the Sun.'"

Aryella shook her head at the dazzling little flower.

Londo turned to admire the one he held. "This variety is a notoriously difficult plant to cultivate, and there are very few on Centauri Prime. There is this one, a few in the Royal Botanical Gardens, and a few which are privately cultivated by master gardeners. They require great care, and they die within seven hours of being plucked, so they are useless for commercial cultivation and sale. They are the most fragile of all Centauri roses. But they are, without a doubt, the most beautiful." Londo signaled to a servant who brought a magnetic pin to hold the rose, and Londo attached it to her dress. "It is like you, a rare and precious commodity."

Aryella blushed as she touched the delicate petals, and she noticed the colors reflected in its opaque buds seemed to change into a new rainbow of colors.

As Aryella delighted in its color patterns, Londo nodded, "They are little chameleons that respond to the minutest differences in heat patterns. It is what causes their delicate color changes." He pointed to the buds closest to her chest, "There, you see, the ones closest to you reflect your body heat, but the ones a few centimeters away are a cascade of different colors."

Aryella waved her hand over the rose, causing ripples of color throughout its pedals and eliciting a gasp from her. "It is delightful!"

Londo sighed, "We are lucky it was not destroyed in the Alliance's bombing. Its companion died, but this one survived. It is clear that it likes you," he observed as he watched its color change again. "It is matching the emerald of your eyes and your dress."

Before long, they struck off for the palace again. Londo wound her through the palace's immense hallways, bound for a particular destination, and finally they arrived at the deserted throne room.

"It is much larger when it is not packed with people. And somehow," she cast her eyes over the room, "more lonely."

"You are, as always, insightful, Aryella." Londo's eyes reflected a guarded sadness as he watched Aryella walk slowly around the room.

"Tell me," Londo said at last, "Do you ever think of your old flames? Perhaps, one in particular?"

"My mother had very good advice," Aryella floated past the windows, fingering the heavy curtains before she turned toward Londo. "She said you never have to worry about old flames, only new ones. I've found that true for myself as well."

A wounded look flickered across Londo's face for a moment until his eyes took stock of Aryella's body language, and the wounded look melted as a mischievous grin spread. Walking toward her, he took her hand. "I haven't found that at all. In fact, I've found that the look from an old flame can turn the entire room on its head."

"The right flame?" she asked.

Mollari pursed his lips as he nodded.

Ignoring his look of desire and mischievousness, she looked over the room. "It is odd to be in the room that is so often in the news." She let her fingers drag along the armrest of his throne. "It is impressive." When he did not respond, she asked, "And how is unbridled power?"

A shadow seemed to fall over Londo's face as his grin faded away, "Not as unbridled as you would imagine."

Londo guided her, indicating she should sit. "It's all right," he chuckled at the anxiety on her face.

Aryella lowered herself into the throne nervously, wondering if someone should burst in upon them what Londo could possibly say to explain her sitting on the throne. She ran her hands across the symbol of his power, but she was thinking of the man and not the position as tears welled in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Londo stepped closer, concern filling his face.

"You have been so kind to me today, Londo." Aryella wiped away her tears, trying to quell her emotions. "To take all this time from your busy schedule just for me. I just…." Her emotions finally overcame her, and she closed her eyes, sobbing as she thought of all that had happened.

"Come here," Londo gently beckoned her from the throne, and clasped her into an embrace as she cried her sorrow and bitterness of thirty years into his shoulder. "It's all right," he tried to comfort her, but as her tears continued to pour forth, his own breath became ragged with emotion. He let her spill all of her tears into his jacket until she could cry no more. At last, when she regained herself, Londo stepped back from her, wiping her lingering tears away with his gloves, trouble evident in his face. He frowned in thought.

"Aryella, look at me," he commanded.

Aryella finally looked at Londo, and for the first time that afternoon, she took stock of him. He had not aged well; in fact, he moved rather heavily now, as if his body was being wearily held together, the net result of pain and ailments. He was not old enough to bear the lines that radiated from his eyes. She could read his body language as he had read hers, and he looked like a trapped man. He had shadowed her like a frantic puppy during their romance so long ago, but she had always assumed it was because they were still in the new blush of desire. Now, he shadowed her again, but there was note of isolation and desperation in his eyes.

For the first time that evening, pity struck her hearts as she looked at him. The proud shoulders she had known from his youth had a resigned slump in them, and he telegraphed melancholy through his eyes. She doubted anyone else could see it, for he never stopped long enough to let anyone see into the windows of his soul, but at the moment, he was totally still and quiet, hanging on her every word and her every look in the way that a drowning man might beg for his life, and there it was, plain as day. She realized that as hard as the years had been on her, they had taken their toll on him as well, perhaps far more than her own hard life.

At last he spoke. "You are as beautiful and passionate and kind as I remember, and it is a man's prerogative to try to impress…" He seemed to hesitate at his choice of words, "…his former wife, yes?" He searched her eyes. "If I am trying to impress you, it is because I want you to know that I have the greatest respect and admiration for you."

Aryella could tell that he wanted to say something more, but he could not get the words out.

"And, perhaps," he continued, "it should not matter to an emperor, but as I told you, I am a man, and your opinion matters to me."

Aryella responded with a sad smile. "All of those years ago, I let you go. Letting go of you was the hardest and the best thing I ever did – for you, for myself." She noticed that his brow furrowed at her choice of words, and her voice dropped into a whisper. "It allowed both of us to move on with our lives. Still, I _missed_ you." She blinked away the tears that started to return. "I was reminded of you, every day, for so long. I know that I asked you to stay away, but still, when all those years passed without hearing from you, I thought that you no longer cared for me. And now you say that my opinion matters to you – to the Emperor of the Centauri Republic – no one would believe it if I told them."

Aryella threw her arms around him again, laying her head against his chest. She allowed the constant beat of his hearts to calm her emotions and her thoughts, and she noticed that he held her tightly like a man who would never let her go, and she allowed herself those blissful moments to relive the same feelings that had captured her hearts so many years before. At last, she stepped back, finding his hands and squeezing them. "Thank you," she smiled. "You could not have been more kind after all these years. I was… apprehensive… about how you would react today."

"Do not be apprehensive, Aryella." There was something maudlin reflected in his eyes, but he quickly reassumed his mask of diplomacy as a guard approached him with a salute and thrust a note into his hands.

Londo glanced at the note's contents. "There has been a delay with the physician," he said, fingering the note. "I hope you do not mind." He folded the note inside his breast pocket again.

She noticed his body telegraph the faintest message that he was lying. "Show me the note," she challenged him playfully.

He chuckled enigmatically without retrieving it from his breast pocket. "It's a state secret, I'm afraid."

"A note from the physician stating there has been a delay is a state secret?"

"Oh yes, I'm afraid so," he replied. "It could be several more hours. The physician cannot say how long it will take."

Whether or not he thought he could get away with it, she could see right through his ploy to buy more time, but she did not mind his transparent ruse. Although she would have given all of her hours for more time with the Londo from her youth, she could not help but think of Puck and Turo. "What about my boys?"

"Do not worry, I've put Young Lady Senna in charge of them. She will ensure they are taken care of until I call for them again."

Aryella allowed herself a smile at the idea of the Emperor playfully maneuvering her into spending more time with him. She could not help but see the hints of longing so clearly written across his features. "You still have not shown me the Great Hall," she finally acquiesced to his ploy with grace.

On their way to the Great Hall, the same guard followed them until Londo abruptly stopped, noting the man was not part of his usual security detail. "Yes?" he asked the guard pointedly.

The guard stammered, "Prime Minister Durla asked me to ensure . . . ."

"Durla?" A cloud crossed Londo's face. "I did not realize that Prime Minister Durla had taken my crown. When next I see him, I suppose he will expect me to bow to him," Londo's words became harsh as his eyes drilled through the guard."

"No, Your Excellency," the guard's words tumbled forth, "I was mistaken." He peered at his glistening boots nervously as the regular guards looked on at their comrade apprehensively.

"Ah, well," Londo straightened, allowing his mood to improve immediately. "Leave us, then." The guard snapped his heels and departed with haste.

Londo's eyes followed Durla's spy until he had disappeared through the door, undoubtedly heading back to his boss to report the Emperor's distraction, before they continued toward the Great Hall.

In a few minutes, Londo and Aryella were standing before an ornate and winding stairway that spiraled upward, each landing displaying the portrait of another early Republic's emperors, until finally the uppermost landing spread into a magnificent hall with soaring ceilings. The walls' columns were filled with dark burl carved into opulent Centauri gods cascading over one another as they frolicked in the abundance of nature's bounty, and flanking each carved column were lavish panels of brocaded silk and velvet.

Aryella did not know where to cast her eyes. Every inch of the room was covered in luxuriousness, and each carving had exquisite embellishments carefully hidden by the palace's master carvers. On top of the panels of carved wood and exquisite silks, there were recessed porticos along the walls, each filled with a full statute of an emperor. As she glanced down the Great Hall's long row, she saw the largest portico was reserved for Emperor Tuscano, and his statue stared boldly across the Great Hall, his coutari raised in victory.

The Great Hall's ceiling was a bounty of color and classical paintings extending the playground of the gods into the heavens. Aryella's breath was taken away, but she put a hand to her breast and exclaimed as she noticed a large hole in the ceiling where plaster had torn free and apparently fallen, though it had long ago been cleaned up. Now, only the bare plaster remained where there were once nymphs and gods playing in the sky. She pointed to the damage.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The bombings," Londo pursed his lips in disapproval. "The palace was more fortunate than most places in the Capital City, though. One day, we shall have it repaired. For now, it is a painful reminder that the sky can come crashing down on you when you least expect it."

Aryella could not contain her astoundment. "It is a wonder, this room. It is an artistic achievement. I barely know where to look - it is so dazzling."

As they strolled through the grandeur of the Great Hall, their hollow steps echoed in its vastness. "Perhaps I will be able to talk you into a dance on my arm," Londo smiled.

Aryella could not pull her eyes away from the figures hidden in the burl. "I could not refuse such an offer."

"Good," Londo touched the small of her back lightly. "There is a banquet tonight, and a dance will follow here. I would like you to accompany me."

Aryella was quiet, and her eyes wandered to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Londo searched her eyes, "You love dancing and music, and I remember how much you love trying the delights of new food. You do not wish to go?"

Aryella shook her head. "I know you, Londo, and I know you enjoy flaunting a woman on your arm and strutting your prowess before a throng of people. You enjoy the bravado of such things. But you have practically grown up in the Royal Court. You know how to behave and what is expected. I don't know any of these things. I will use the wrong fork, and everyone will laugh at me."

Londo snorted at her remarks. "Do you think I would let them do such a thing? No one will laugh at you when you are on the arm of the Emperor. I can assure you of that."

But Aryella was not convinced. "Maybe not in front of you, but it was different when you were merely a noble. There were so many nobles; it was easier to make a mistake and correct it. There are no such allowances now, and the glare of the spotlight around you is too much for me. There will be relentless gossip, and the nobles will say unkind, untrue things. The entire nation follows your life with keen interest, and I do not wish to be at the eye of the storm, nor do I wish you to be subject to the things they will say behind your back."

Londo considered her objection for a moment. Aryella had come from a family of servants, taught by her family and by custom to fade into the background at society events. She reflected this upbringing in her personality, and it showed in her reserved demeanor and the carefully diplomatic way she choose all of her words in public. She had always been reserved at crowded Centauri society events with one exception: when she was dancing. In that respect, their opposite natures complimented each other. Londo's delight in the thrum of crowds relieved her of the spotlight's glare, for his overbearing exuberance in public drew attention away from her. But now, his position made that dynamic impossible.

Londo belayed Aryella's fears. "Then we will skip the evening's festivities, and you will dine with me in the private residence. And as much as I would enjoy showing you off to the Royal Court, I will enjoy having your undivided attention even more. And perhaps we can return later tonight after the banquet, and I will yet have that dance."

"I cannot steal you away from your obligations all day, Londo," Aryella swallowed back her conflicted emotions.

"Ah," Londo shook his head. "But you will be doing your Emperor a great service, for I have not had a vacation in years, and some time away from my duties is the one thing I desperately need, even if it is just an evening."

At this, the heavy feelings in Aryella's breast released, and she felt more comfortable than ever in his presence, as she was assured he was yet looking out for her.


	6. Remembering How to Dance

Londo accompanied Aryella to the private residence, and they waited by candlelight for their dinner to arrive. The intimate setting made Londo feel as if the years had fallen away, and Aryella was once again his new bride. Something about her soft presence quelled his external exuberance into directed passion. She once again held his rapt attention, and the outside world seemed to drift away.

While they were waiting for their dinner, Londo regaled her with stories. "And do you know," he grinned, flashing his canines, "what he said? He said 'No you idiot, that's not my leg. That's my air hose.'" Londo laughed heartily, letting his booming laugh fill the residence.

Aryella smiled, and Londo felt his sociable and outgoing nature and his good humor returning in spades.

"Well," Londo's laugh faded away. "You know, you are the only wife that never acted as if I bound and tortured them when I told a story." He chuckled lightly. "You _ask_ for them, even when you have heard them more than once."

"I love your stories. You are a wonderful storyteller. I think they are quite charming. Perhaps your other wives were not adept at listening."

Londo's liveliness faded, "Perhaps that is so. Or perhaps they heard my stories too many times. Something you did not have the chance to endure." Londo sighed, meeting her eyes, and they gazed at each other with warmth.

Their conversation was cut short by the rap of the wait staff delivering covered platters to their table, and Londo waved at the waiter standing raptly at attention behind Aryella's shoulder. The waiter stepped forward briskly, uncovering her dinner. "For madam, crushed tripears and aged belziono shaved over a delicately braised flank steak from a brommel steer."

At the sight, Aryella inhaled slightly, glancing back at Londo, who was watching her with interest. He saw her hesitate, eyes nervously glancing between him and the platter before she slowly, unsurely, raised her fork to try the dish. He could tell she was trying not to malign his choice.

The sharpness in Londo's voice arrested Aryella's fork. "You _would_ tell me, would you not, if, for some reason, something displeased you?" He gestured to her dinner.

Aryella looked helplessly at her plate. "I…." She met Londo's inquisitive gaze, and at last, her chin lifted with a note of resolution. "Perhaps you have forgotten, Londo, that my family's household god is Klepalo – the god whose corporeal body was killed by the poisoned fruits of the Tripear tree? It is my family's totem that partaking of tripears is prohibited, so although it looks delicious, I cannot…."

"Ah," Londo shook a finger at the dish. "As you say, I must have forgotten." He motioned to the servants. "We will switch plates. You will take mine. I ordered something quite different." The platters were switched, and the servant uncovered Aryella's new plate, uncovering a filleted coastal flatfish sitting on a delicate bed of minced citrus seagrass with a herb-infused glazing over the delicacy. The servant announced the highlight rimming the dish rimmed. "The _coup de grace_ of the dish, Madam, is passion fish roe which not only helps the digestion but," the attendant leaned closer, "is known to be a natural aphrodisiac." Londo had thrown an arm over the chair next to him, and he had a smugly satisfied look on his face as he watched Aryella's reaction.

Aryella's look of trepidation disappeared and her eyes widened as she saw the same dinner they had enjoyed on their wedding night in front of her. "Oh you!" She balled up her napkin and threw it at Londo, hitting him in the shoulder. "You knew this whole time!" Aryella protested. "You did not forget! You made me think I would insult you if I did not eat the tripears. You did that to me on purpose!"

With amusement, Londo raised a multi-colored tripear on his fork, "You have no idea what you are missing, my dear. The tripears may be worth breaking your family's totem." He laughed heartily. "And anyway, I wanted to show you that you can be at ease here. I know it is not easy for you being at the palace. As you said, the glare of the spotlight is very bright, but I wanted to see that headstrong, happy-go-lucky nymph that danced barefoot with me so long ago once more."

Aryella fingered her napkin thoughtfully. "It is difficult when I knew you under entirely different circumstances. There is an ocean of difference between the brash young war hero of Ragesh III and the supreme ruler of 40 billion Centauri. And I am but a simple woman who has made a habit of collecting problems since I saw you last."

"Not simple," he corrected her. "The carefree sprite inhabiting your body is anything but simple, though she tries very hard to project that impression. But _I_ know better. And in any event, we are in private, and you do not need to worry about my office." He shook his fork at her, "And you're right. Although it feels like yesterday when I last saw you, many years have passed. You will tell me of the problems and, perhaps, some of the happiness you have collected while the musicians are setting up. . . ."

Aryella's eyes widened at the mention of live music, and she begged him not to invite the musicians into his sanctuary.

"You are lucky, my darling," he smiled. "I am trying my best not to overindulge myself. I would have had a hundred servants attending to your every whim today, but you did not tell me you were coming. Next time, you will give me fair warning." Seeing the musicians arriving, he waved them off with a hand, instead having the delicate notes of his favorite composers filter through the residence's sound system. "Is this better?" he asked. He could tell that the palace was overwhelming her, so the more intimate he could make her experience, the more comfortable she would be in his presence.

"Yes, thank you, Londo," she said. "Frankly, I did not come with the intention to steal you away from your guests or keep you from the affairs of state. I know you must be very busy, and I'm astounded and grateful that you have given me so much of your time."

"Aryella," Londo shook his head. "It is I who am grateful. Of all the people I have known in my life, you have been the least selfish. You never asked for anything from me. And now, you have finally asked something of me, and I am unable to give it, so it is I who feels ashamed. As for the affairs of state, my staff has become quite used to my absence, I'm afraid, for there are times when I am unable to attend due to circumstances beyond my control. Besides, tonight's gala is an affair for the ministers and their staff, so they will be pleased that I am not there to dispute their versions of their triumphs." Londo chuckled before his mirth faded away.

"It is no time, really, for such things as galas or banquets," he said, a shadow passing over his face. "We have no money in the Treasury, but my ministers keep reminding me that we must put on a good show for the people, even if it is not the case. If the people believe there is a sense of normality in the world, perhaps it will give them comfort."

Aryella fidgeted with her fork for a moment before asking, "And what if the people do not see normality but instead see the ruling class's gluttony in the face of dark and desperate times?"

Londo narrowed his eyes, regarding her. He dismissed the attendants with a hand and leaned back in his chair, "In fact, that is what I told them. But I do not have such insightful advisers around me, and I cannot fight my ministers at every turn. Even an emperor must save his political capital for when it counts."

"Why don't you replace your ministers?"

"It is not that easy," Londo pushed away his plate and settled in with his brivari as if he would be there for a long time. "But you still have not told me of all that has transpired since I last saw you. I have asked several times now, so I see you are going to make me beg to hear what has transpired since I last saw you."

"I imagine you have not begged for anything in many years, Londo," Aryella's eyes twinkled.

Londo stared at his brivari glass, "You would be surprised," he said under his breath. He shifted back in his chair.

Aryella shook her head with a smile, "And anyway, a day-by-day account would take another 30 years to tell."

Londo returned her smile, "I would not mind."

As their intimate dinner wore on, Aryella forgot that she was in the presence of the Emperor, for he was uncharacteristically quiet, encouraging her to regale him with the details of her life, and she became more animated and comfortable with Londo as she entertained him with stories of the trials of her sons' adolescence, the little stone house with the view of the harbor that Enzo had bought on borrowed ducats but which had been destroyed by a fire near the docks, the unpaid financial woes caused by the house's destruction that fell on her head at Enzo's sudden death, the shack that flooded every spring into which she had moved but which had sublime view of the harbor, and the drunken but merry dock community of Porto that had taught both of her boys to defend themselves with their fists.

"Oh but Londo," her face turned sad, "our community has suffered much these last few years. Half the docks were destroyed in the bombing – that was when Puck's wife and his little girl were killed. You would have loved her. She was the sweetest, happiest little thing. And Turo has always been a whirlwind, even now, but he was the proudest uncle a little girl could have. He would perch her on his shoulders, and they would spend the day strolling the docks together. He took it very hard when she died. Perhaps even harder than Puck." Aryella withdrew a locket from around her neck and snapped it open as she handed it to Londo.

Londo gazed at the toddler, her eyes filled with happiness. Londo ran his thumb over the locket, furrowing his brow as feeling welled inside his chest for this innocent child killed by the Alliance's bombs. At last, he snapped it closed and passed it back to Aryella.

"She is beautiful like her grandmother," he said quietly.

Aryella took the locket and sighed. "Turo had already started to teach her how to cheat at children's card games. He said it was an uncle's privilege."

Londo laughed at this. "A card shark? I would have liked to meet her."

Aryella reached across the table and took his hand, dropping the locket into his hand and rolling his fingers closed.

"I cannot take this…" he protested.

Aryella cut him off, "I have her memories. Take her photo, Londo. She will remind you of all the Centauri who depend on you, no matter what your ministers say. Maybe she will even bring you luck at cards – you remember you were always looking for a good luck charm? Perhaps she will be yours."

Londo grunted, but he touched the locket gently before pocketing it. "I remember what my good luck charm was and exactly when I lost it," he took her hand and drew her upwards before pulling her toward him as a soulful tune echoed through the residence.

As she drew closer, Londo searched her eyes. "Will you allow a dance?"

She acquiesced with an inclination of her head, her emerald eyes glittering with contentment. Londo waited as the current melody faded away before a new song began.

A cheerful song broke the momentary silence and filled the residence with its buoyant notes, and he spun her into his arms with a jerk of his arm. "This is more like it," he smiled at the way her figure flowed into his body. But as she reached her left hand up to grasp his shoulder, he stiffened abruptly.

"What is it?" Aryella's eyes scanned him to see what was wrong.

Londo feigned a smile, "A mere shoulder injury, my darling. The years have not been as kind to my body as they have to yours." Londo crushed her hand into his body before she could place it on his shoulder. "You must not touch my right shoulder," he gestured toward the Keeper's position. "I'm afraid it gives me great trouble, and it is very tender to the touch."

"I will avoid it, Londo, but do you recall there is meant to be a body width between us for this style?" she asked as she was about to step back.

"Not between _us_ ," he said confidently.

In perfect rhythm, their movements breathed in time as they glided across the floor to the lively notes. But at the first refrain, Londo misstepped, accidentally grinding his heel into her toe.

Aryella eyes widened, and she gasped, though it was from the shock of his foot rather than from serious pain. "You have forgotten!" she accused him.

After reassuring himself that her foot was not injured, he frowned, lifting his chin in defiance of her statement. "No," Londo said firmly. "You are doing it wrong."

Aryella gaped at his statement, an astonished smile spreading over her features. Chastising him gently, she said, "Who taught who, Londo Mollari?"

"It is Emperor Mollari II," he stated as if her words maligned him. "And I have it on excellent authority that I have the definitive word on whether my dance step is correct."

"Oh, _you_!" She shook her head at him, her topknot bobbing with frustrated merriment. "You cannot have it _both_ ways all the time. You cannot be both Londo Mollari and the Emperor. Which shall it be?"

Londo drew her hand closer and kissed the back of it, "You shall have the best of both." As she gazed back at him with delight and exasperation, he considered what a divine empress she would have made. He even allowed himself to consider the idea of taking Aryella as his wife again. Of course, Timov would never approve, but she hardly approved of anything. He grunted as he considered what Timov's reaction would be. There would be all sorts of broken vases and shrill epithets. His marriage to Aryella had been the event that had caused animosity with House Algul before his marriage to Timov daughter of Algul, had even begun. To introduce Aryella as his wife again would cause the greatest divisions in his own House, and it would irritate Timov to no end. The abstract idea delighted him, though he did not cherish the reality of the wrath he would incur, even from the safe distance of Timov's permanent exile.

Londo scrutinized Aryella's eyes. "You would be the People's Empress," he murmured.

"What?" She stared back at him.

"If you were still my wife," he corrected himself. "You would be the People's Empress. I am sure of it. It is not your beauty that would capture the people – though you would draw the eyes of the entire Republic. It is your kindness and your generosity that would captivate them. It is unlike anything they've ever had at the palace. I think, perhaps, it is because you were not born into a noble House. The noble Houses are only concerned with increasing their social status, but you were never one to climb social ladders. If I recall, there was a lot of begging on my part." Londo chuckled. "Tell me, how do you spend your spare time?"

Aryella shrugged, leaning into his arms as they continued to move in time with the music. "Before, when you asked me what I had directed my passion into, I didn't want to answer because I thought you would be angry. But in the South, the people have suffered so much. Under Cartagia, the soldiers came and dragged people away in the daylight. And there were so many that suffered in the Alliance's bombings. Children who lost limbs. People who lost homes. Now there no food, and life is even more difficult than before." Her voice fell softer. "I have directed my energy to helping those who have less than myself. There's an orphanage where I spend much of my time. It is heart-breaking, Londo. The children there have lost everything."

Aryella blinked away her tears. "What I realized these last years was that there were many, many people less fortunate than me, even if my cottage floods and Enzo's debts are wrapped around my neck. But I have so much – I have my sons, and Porto is a very close community. My neighbors are the first ones to rescue my furniture each spring as it floats away." She laughed, her eyes far away. "But anyway, I went to help at the orphanage to fill my hearts by pleasing others. I try to help where I can, but it never feels like it is enough."

Londo clenched his jaw and stopped the dance as he whispered into her ear. "You _were_ and you _are_ worthy of love, Aryella. I know what happens at the clubs. I am under no illusions. I know that men are not always gentlemen. I had some inkling of what had conspired in your life when I found you at the club."

Aryella blinked away her tears. "What I realized these last years was that there were many, many people less fortunate than me. At first, I did it to please myself, but now I fill my hearts by pleasing others. So, I seek them out, and I try to help where I can."

"You have always had a generous heart. And," Londo held her closer, "that is what I meant when I said you would be the People's Empress. Being selfish has always been foreign to you. You have always lived to serve others. You would not do it for the cameras or the spotlight – it is evident you hate such things. You would do it because you are a genuinely kind and compassionate woman."

The idea of an Empress that would inspire the people through the darkness seizing the Republic was almost enough for him to indulge his desperate yearning to have her back at his side, but he knew that it would also sentence her to the same evil that filled his life. He would not condemn her to such a fate. And whereas Timov's fire gave her the ability to withstand the nest of vipers known as the palace for several years, such a place would crush Aryella's tender, carefree spirit.

"Why did you think I would be angry with you?" he asked gently.

Aryella buried her face in his left shoulder for a moment before responding. "The groups I work with – they have a political element."

Londo's face darkened, and his blood ran cold. "What do you mean, a political element?"

"You know I have always hated politics, Londo, but my own neighbor disappeared a few months ago. He has never returned home. His family… they are beside themselves with fear."

Londo felt the pit of his stomach turn. "What happened?"

He felt Aryella's rising tension. "He disappeared in the middle of the night. He was... a telepath."

Internally, Londo's anger began to consume him. The Drakh had been targeting Centauri telepaths for extermination to cover up their insidious activity on Centauri Prime. Of course, it was under the guise of his government's action, and there was nothing he could do about it. And he knew if he uncovered more details, Aryella and the Porto group would be targeted by the Drakh. In reality, he had few hopes for his country. One was to bide his time in the hopes that an outside force such as the Alliance could help the Centauri Republic, and the other was that the Centauri people would uncover the treacherous rot within the government and rise against it themselves. In either event, he could do little.

"I know it must seem unfair," he said, trying to control the anger from reaching his own voice. "But I have given the ministries a certain amount of discretion with respect to insidious activities. If he was taken by the security forces, they must have uncovered evidence against him. And if there was a mistake, he will be returned home." Inwardly, he knew this was not the case. If the Drakh had identified the neighbor as a telepath and he had been taken in the night, he would likely not be heard from again. Londo wished nothing more than to personally kill every Drakh with a highly satisfying slice of his coutari, but in this matter, he was powerless. The Drakh would eliminate every perceived threat, and telepaths were their highest priority. The Drakh might have let the vast population live, but between the excruciating sanctions by the Alliance and the Drakh's hidden death grip on his planet, it wasn't much of an existence for the Centauri.

Londo knew her discussion of political movements in the South would peak the Drakh's interest, so he carefully steered her away from the discussion. "Come, I spend every waking moment of my days thinking of politics. Let us forget them for a few minutes." He stepped back in time with the music, and Aryella followed.

Though years had passed, and Londo had forgotten many of the dance steps, Aryella gently reminded him though her example without rebuking or embarrassing him, and several times she merely corrected her own step to match his imperfect memory. But when he spun her away in time with the music, he looked on with alarm as she slipped through his gloved hands. As she fell, he swept her up in his arms, concern in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" He scanned her to ensure she hadn't hurt herself.

"I'm fine, but _these_ must go." She pulled his gloves off finger by finger, tossing them to the table and ran her fingers over his bare hands. The sensation of her fingertips took his breath away, for he was rarely afforded the luxury of touch since the tradition of his office required the gloves in public. As she ran her fingers over his hands, he considered how her presence was a balm to his soul, and he allowed himself to savor the moment.

"I will enjoy taking you to the Great Hall for that dance you promised me now that you have remembered the correct dance steps,"she said.

Londo chuckled as he glanced at the time, and Aryella rolled her eyes in mock disapproval.

The cheery song faded away, and the eerie notes of a haunting melody floated through the residence. He pulled her close with love and affection apparent in his eyes, and it was telegraphed through the tenderness of his touch. The music to melted their bodies together as it had done so many years ago.

Londo considered the tools in his arsenal to inform her about the reality of his life. He desperately wanted to tell her how much she meant to him and how much he yet wanted her by his side. He could drown himself in brivari, though the Keeper's tolerance had increased to the point that he could hardly walk when he put it to sleep with alcohol, and he didn't want to lose the capacity to savor every fleeting moment with Aryella.

As she curled into his chest keeping time with the music, he whispered, "Aryella, do you know the story of King Euphestios?" He could, at the least, use an analogy to inform her of the situation.

Aryella shook her head, nestling closer.

Londo frowned, but he suddenly remember the perfect fable. "What of Marcenia, the Minister of Myapos?"

"Oh yes, the one who was imprisoned in silence by the evil trickster god?"

Londo grimaced, and he felt the Keeper drawing his nerves tight in a painful warning. By telegraphing the story, the Drakh now knew he was trying to inform her of his situation, so he abandoned his attempt before he could even try. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

"What's wrong?" Aryella asked.

"What do you mean?" he pulled back.

"Your muscles are taunt, Londo. Is something wrong?"

"No," he smiled, his eyes glassy with the glow of brivari. _She could still read his body like a book_. "Nothing is wrong." Nevertheless, he felt crestfallen at the failure of his attempt to let her know that he was not free to act as he wished.

Londo closed his eyes, leaning into her, lust overwhelming him as his body ached to embrace her. He was desperate for her, but he pulled back, as an internal struggle waged a mighty battle in his mind.

At the risk of an Emperor's ire, Aryella leaned into him for a kiss, and his body followed the arch in her back, leaving him breathless as his fingers traced her silky skin. In that moment, Londo received a memory to treasure on his darkest night, nights that would continue for years in the future – a memory of her kiss, unbidden but offered in earnest.

As their lips parted, Londo closed the remaining inches between their bodies and wrapped Aryella in an embrace. He leaned into her ear, quietly whispered, "I wish nothing more than the ability to rewind time so that I might have stayed with you. I would give anything to have those years back again." As he pulled back, he could feel himself radiating incredible sadness. There was longing, and desperation, and fear intermingled there. But more profoundly, there was the awful chasm of sadness, of having something so close that he could taste it and touch it and smell it, but it could never be his.

Aryella smoothed the fabric of his jacket before she responded, "We can do nothing about the past, but at least there is the present and the future."

The sadness remained in Londo's eyes as he murmured, "Yes, the future…."

Compounding his sorrow, the notes of the song dissipated, and Aryella toyed with his buttons. "I would dance with you all night, Londo. In fact, I would like nothing more, but all that wine from the garden has overtaken me all at once. Would you mind terribly if I rested my eyes for a short time? If not, I will fall asleep on your shoulder."

Londo snorted good-naturedly. "I can think of worse things." Taking her by the hand, he led her to his expansive bedroom draped in thick and ornate Centauri fabrics, and as he sat on the edge of the bed watching her intently, she curled up next to him.

"If you are not careful," he ran a soothing hand down the line of her body, "I will keep you here with me forever."

"I would stay if you, Londo Mollari, asked me – not if it was commanded by Emperor Mollari II – and if I was free to go when I wanted."

"You would stay, if I asked it of you?" He wondered, in genuine earnestness. "In this place, surrounded by the things you do not like? The people's eyes on you at all times? The spotlight? The traditions and pomp and circumstance of the palace?"

"Of course I would," she said tiredly. "I would do it because I love you." She took his hand and closed her eyes, falling asleep as soon as her eyelids touched.

Londo grunted in surprise, and a flash electricity rippled through his chest at her tender words. He had seen how she had responded to him all day, but with one word, she had confirmed it all. He gazed softly at her sleeping figure, his hand enfolded in hers, and he choked back his own emotion, thinking how much he would give to have her there by his side every night. He could endure so much if he could be granted this one gift, but his soul could not bear the consequences.

He was reminded of the morning after their wedding, when he had awoken before her, and she had been sleeping on his shoulder. He had vowed not to move until she had awoke under her own power. Now he noted that she had captured not only his hearts and his soul but also his hand, so he would not leave her. But after a few fleeting minutes, she rolled over, releasing his hand, so he traced her body with his fingers, letting them linger on the hem of her dress before he retired to the residence's drawing room.

Londo pulled the door to the bedroom closed after him so that he would not disturb Aryella's slumber, and he walked to the room's desk, glancing through a thick stack of paperwork prepared for his signature before he absent-mindedly turned toward his wet bar and poured a drink, but before he could lift it to his lips, a familiar presence descended on the room. Londo felt his blood chill, and he threw back the entire glass of brivari in one gulp before he turned to face Shiv'kala.


	7. Band of Brothers

"Hello, gentlemen."

At these words of greeting, Lady Senna, the daughter of the late Lord Refa, watched Turo and Puck turn to see her standing behind them.

"Lady Senna," Puck gasped.

"Have we met?" she inclined her head curiously.

"Everyone in the Republic knows you," Puck bowed his head crisply. "Even those who barely watch the news know you are the Emperor's ward."

Turo stepped in front of Puck, sweeping his hand toward the floor in an ostentatious bow. "If I was a betting man, I would wager every Centauri on the planet would recognize you. Probably every Centauri that is not on the planet as well."

Senna amusedly watched Turo try to block his brother. "And you are not a betting man?"

"If there is something worth winning, I am always a man of chance." Turo grinned as Puck's iron grip closed around his shoulder and pulled him backwards.

"Pardon my brother," Puck smiled with a flicker of irritation. "Sometimes he forgets his manners."

Senna clasped her hands in front of her demurely as she glanced over the brothers. "The Emperor asked me to show you around, so I wonder what you might like to see?"

"Actually," Turo said brazenly. "We've seen quite enough of the dungeons already. I'm not sure our blood runs blue enough to be let into anywhere else."

Senna tapped her lips thoughtfully as she noted their small crests and elegant clothing. "You are commoners?"

Both men seemed to straighten proudly. Turo flashed a mischievous smile. "Indeed, we are not members of….how did the Emperor put it so eloquently a few minutes ago? Oh yes, he called the noble Houses 'overrated dynasties of heathens and back-stabbing idiots.' And we would _not dare_ to contradict the Emperor."

Senna laughed, a smile lighting up her features. "He sounds like he is in fine form today."

Puck leaned forward conspiratorially, "Rather than commoners, we prefer to be called _free thinkers_."

Senna cocked her head, "Is that so?" As the Emperor's ward, she had enjoyed a liberal education, including education by free thinkers, though they were disappearing more and more. The emboldened claim by the commoner immediately peaked her interest. _Surely_ , she thought, _they will be more interesting than the obnoxious Prime Candidates I am usually forced to socialize with_.

She waved the young men toward her, "The Emperor instructed me to show you around, so come along." She turned on her heel, taking the gentlemen back up the stairs and showing them her favorite portions of the palace.

When they came to the Library, with a half-domed ceiling carved in dark ebony and aged books of the Republic extending for as far as the eye could see, she engaged them in conversation, learning about their lives in Porto and the seaside port they called home.

Senna was so thoroughly engaged in their mariner stories of their household gods and the happenings on the coast that time slipped away from her, so when she finally glanced at the hour, she interrupted Puck's story about the coastal gods who frequently caused the little seaside port so much mayhem. "Gentlemen, I would love to hear more since I am unable to travel to the coast often, but the banquet is about to begin, and…."

"Say no more," Puck stood, offering a hand. "At the mention of food, we would follow you into the devil's den."

Soon, the trio found themselves in the banquet hall being courted by aperitifs on every tray. Over the course of the next half-hour, the men politely mingled with the other guests, although Senna noted that they deftly took a drink from every other tray passing them by and left their empty glasses on the next.

After a short delay, a speaker near the head table announced that the Emperor would not be attending, and Prime Minister Durla took over, making several toasts to the ministers of the cabinet and the work of their staff before the banquet food was served.

Senna noted the young men's appetites – although they were polite, they were also ravenous. By the time the orchestra had assembled for the ball, she could barely believe that either of them could walk, but they both jumped up spritely from the table. Senna tried to keep her eyes on them, but she was overtaken by young gentlemen seeking her attention, and she lost track of the Marcanti brothers for over an hour. At last, she was able to free herself from the gala's throngs, and she went looking for them, finally discovering them just outside the banquet hall.

Turo's hands were up in a deferential gesture as an elderly noble was dressing him down for approaching his young wife with designs on her. "My profound apologies," Turo actually looked appalled. _Probably at being caught_ , Senna thought.

The elderly noble was advancing on him with a cane fortified with brass. "You deserve to be put in your place, and you are lucky I do not have a coutari to slice you in half," the noble cried.

"My good man," Puck placed a hand on the noble's chest, I would be glad to teach him a lesson for you in a _fair_ fight. I would even wager a meager amount on the outcome."

The elderly noble drew a small ransom out of his purse. "I'll lay the wager for you." With that, he invited the other nobles in attendance to wager on the fight.

Puck rolled up his sleeves as he stood next to Senna, and she heard him mutter, "I hate fighting my brother."

"Is he that good?" Senna asked curiously.

"No," Puck straightened, determination in his eye. "He cheats."

For several minutes, Puck and Turo took turns throwing fists at each other, though their state of inebriation did not allow many serious blows to land, but a shout from inside the palace momentarily caught Puck's attention, and Turo landed a nasty blow, sending Puck staggering. Turo followed it up immediately with pummeling fists to Puck's diaphragm, knocking out his wind. Puck backed up, throwing up a hand while he tried to regain his breath.

"Are you giving up?" Turo called out.

As Puck was bent over catching his breath, he caught Senna's eye, and he winked knowingly as if he'd been toying with his brother. Finally regaining his wind, Puck shook his head. "Not in a fight with _you_. You should know better than that."

Puck advanced, a determined fervor on his face. He seemed to gain a second wind, and he flew against his brother, landing a vicious flurry of blows. The last one landed squarely on Turo's face, knocking him down, and he momentarily lost consciousness.

"The winner by knockout," the elderly noble laughed, awarding Puck a handsome sum and a bottle for his trouble. "And let that be a lesson to you, young man," he shook his cane at Turo who had already come around and had slowly started to get to his feet.

Turo slipped, falling to the ground again before he finally made it back to his feet. "Brother," Turo gasped, doubled over with his hands on his knees, "I think you have broken my nose."

Puck threw out his arms in both directions. "Your nose is enormous, Turo! It is very difficult to miss, so do not blame me. Besides, you are crying like a baby, but it isn't even bleeding."

Turo licked the blood off his split lip with a shake of his head, and he shrugged. "Well, there you have me, I suppose. It is impossible to win against someone with a head as hard as yours."

Puck laughed, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulder, "Just be glad he didn't take his cane to you, Turo. It could have been much worse." Apparently, they had been in many such bouts growing up, and Turo was resigned to losing to his big brother's unforgiving fists.

Turo walked stiffly toward Senna, and Puck joined them after collecting his winnings.

Turo pounced on her arm, seeming to instantly recover from his failed bout. "Lady Senna, this gala is rather stuffy. Would you not like to experience the charms of our Capital City with us? We know a place…."

"Oh," her eyes darted between the brothers, and she noticed Puck's eyes were beginning to glaze over, and he was paying more attention to his unsteady feet than the conversation, though she wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or the fight.

Senna had seen quite a bit of the underbelly of the Capital City when she had been thrust into it at her parents' demise, but the palace was suffocating, and she knew she would enjoy getting out of it for a short time, though the logistics seemed insurmountable. "I would like that very much, but it would be quite a mess – the palace guards would have to be alerted, and they would have to clear the area…."

"You misunderstand," Puck slurred, having finished his bottle. "He means to say that we will break you out if you would like to come with us. We will be back before the end of the ball or our Mother will have our heads… as will the Emperor, but truthfully, we are more afraid of our mother's wrath."

Senna laughed. "That's only proper." Although she was apprehensive about leaving the palace grounds with the men, her curiosity and adventurous spirit got the better of her, for she could not comprehend _how_ they would break her out of the palace, especially in such inebriated states.

"All right, you lead the way," she said with a pensive smile.

Turo and Puck seemed to have laid out their plan already, for they marched up the palace's stairway to the second floor, darting their heads out the windows every several rooms until one shouted out that he had found what they were looking for.

Upon exiting the room for a small veranda, Senna found Puck sitting in an old and thick tree overhanging the veranda, and he had thrown his hand out for her. With a sigh, she kicked off her heels, handing them up to Puck before she grasped his outstretched hand, and he pulled her safely into the tree. As Puck waited for his brother, who seemed to be having slightly more trouble as he stiffly crawled into the tree, Senna delicately balanced along one of the branches that dropped over the palace walls.

A cadre of palace guards passed by, and the trio froze, hoping the tree's thick branches would cover their movements. When the guards were safely out of earshot, Puck lowered himself down, dropping the last few feet. Turo dangled Senna down to Puck waiting fingertips, and he caught her when Turo finally let go.

Turo himself landed with a cry and a thud, and as he straightened, he seemed to regret it, for he walked stiffly behind Puck and Senna. Puck turned to Senna and withdrew a large silk handkerchief from a pocket and tossed it to Senna. "You will want to wear that – otherwise we won't be the only ones who know the Emperor's ward has gone missing from the palace."

As Senna was winding the handkerchief around her head, she again considered that this could be a deadly rouse on behalf of men she had only just met, but then she glanced at their charming but inebriated states, and she could not imagine them planning anything quite so elaborate as breaking her out of the palace. _And_ , she reasoned, _was it not the Emperor himself who had commanded her to keep an eye on them?_ She glanced at Puck. "How do you plan to get back _in_ the palace, anyway?"

Puck responded, "We have a very intricate plan for that. You will have to wait to see it in action, but we put a lot of thought into it in the last hour. We think it will work."

"Lead on, then," Senna gestured spryly toward the city.

The trio hustled along the streets leading away from the palace, blending into a crowd some blocks away. Before long, Senna found herself in a foreign quarter, notably less well-to-do than the palace's neighborhood. She noted the crests of the local men getting quite short, denoting their low status, and the threads of their clothing was showing. It reminded her of her desperate days on the street before the Emperor had taken her in as his ward, and a chill ran through her bones.

Puck rapped on a door with his fist, and it opened to a rowdy and raucous crowd inside. The burly man at the door looked the trio up and down before he growled, "You lost, sir?"

Puck blinked twice before he remembered his clothes. "Oh, no," he gestured wildly. "These aren't ours. Let us in!" he demanded.

The man's eyebrows shot up. "This place isn't for you…sir." he said in a growl.

Turo stepped around his brother, withdrawing a knife from his clothing. "Let us in," he insisted.

"And what," the man threw back his head laughing, "do you intend on doing with _that_?"

Puck glanced at his brother's hand and groaned as he saw a silver flatware knife with a blunt edge. "Did you steal the Emperor's silver from the banquet?"

Turo turned to the doorman flipping the knife hilt first in his hand. He pressed it into the surprised man's hand and pushed his way past him with a pat him on the shoulder. "For your trouble," he said with a grin.

With a glance at the silver in his hand, the doorman let the trio inside without another word.

Once inside, Senna made out a throng of people in the darkened premises, but she kept walking, the brothers flanking her, and the house opened into a large colonnaded courtyard surrounded by walls on all sides. In the middle of the courtyard, there was a large bonfire surrounded by revelers. In a moment, she had a cup of bubbling Centauri tchule, a potent hard alcohol that tasted similar to cider but which was much bolder in its alcoholic content.

Senna joined the people casting shadows around the flickering firelight. It was dark enough that no one would recognize her, especially with the scarf on, but the merry atmosphere was far different than she remembered living outside the palace. Here, the people were dressed in rags, but they were full of spirit, warmth, and laughter. They passed several hours listening to a rich tapestry of stories told by master storytellers, each more fanciful and farfetched than the last.

In between stories, merry singing broke out around the bonfire, and Puck and Turo would join with the crowd in the choruses from wherever in the courtyard they had migrated. But after a while, the men were displeased with the song choices, so Puck sashayed over to the ragtag band of musicians playing their makeshift instruments, and he exchanged a few words with them as Turo found an oversized gourd hanging on the wall. He flipped it over, grabbing two large wooden spoons, and with exaggerated gestures as if he was playing an oversized timpani drum, he began pounding an exaggerated rolling drum beat, the introduction to a well-known Centauri sea shanty.

Puck jumped up spryly on a barrel and serenaded the courtyard with each verse of the song. Senna heard a variety of voices familiar with the old patriotic sailor's tune joining him, and he encouraged them with spirited gestures.

_ ♪♪ _ _ Haul boys, haul away  _ _ ♪♪ _ _   
_ _ ♫  _ _ Its time for victory day  _ _ ♫ _ _   
_ _ ♪♪  _ _ We’ll sink their bones  _ _ ♪♪ _ _   
_ _ ♫  _ _ Even if we’re forced to do it with stones  _ __ ♫

_ ♪♪ _ _ Haul boys, haul away  _ _ ♪♪ _ _   
_ _ ♫  _ _ Sharpen up your swordplay  _ _ ♫ _ _   
_ _ ♪♪  _ _ We’ll sink their bones  _ __ ♪♪

The musicians knew the melody but every time the chorus rolled around, Turo and Puck belligerently belted out the chorus, the entire courtyard joining in the jubilant melody.

_ ♪♪  _ _ Sink their bones!  _ _ ♪♪ _ _   
_ _ ♫  _ _ Sink their bones!  _ _ ♫ _ _   
_ _ ♪♪  _ _ Sink their bones!  _ __ ♪♪

 

When the song finished Puck breathlessly found Senna, throwing an affectionate arm around her shoulders. "Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked merrily.

Senna was about to answer when she noticed Turo heading for the fire with a bottle. She pointed Puck's attention toward his brother as Turo waved a few people aside with an arm and held out his lighter, blowing his alcohol across the lighter and spewing fire, delighting the crowd with his drunken antics.

"Watch out," Puck grinned. "He's set three people on fire. I know because I was one of them." Puck shook his head with drunken amusement. For several minutes, Turo entertained the crowd with his fire-breathing skills before he withdrew a knife that glinted in the firelight.

"Brother," Turo gestured toward Puck. "Do not think I forgot the fight today. Now it is my turn for revenge. We will have a contest." Senna gasped at the sight of the knife.

Puck yawned, the late hour finally overtaking him. "Turo fancies himself a knife thrower. _Definitely_ stand clear for this."

Puck strolled to his brother's side. "And what will you wager on this throwing match, brother?"

"I'll bet all of the Emperor's silver on my body."

Puck snorted. "Well, that's not much of a bet."

Turo laughed, and he began to withdraw silver knives secreted in his boots and his waistcoat until there was a small pile in front of him. "I should say that's almost enough for a king's ransom," Turo chuckled.

" _That_ is why you were walking so stiffly early," Senna exclaimed, aghast at the amount of silver Turo had pulled from his clothes and had apparently stolen from the banquet.

"Yes, and do not forget it weighed me down in our fight." Turo picked up a knife, and in one swift motion he cast it at a wooden column, burying the tip of the blade, leaving the rest of the knife shuddering from the impact.

Puck pulled a knife from the pile, throwing it at the same spot, and it landed squarely beside the other one. A collective shout went up at its placement as other revelers began to lay bets on the brothers' match. For several minutes, the brothers traded places, each adept at burying dulled blades in the soft pockmarked wood until at last Puck threw up his hands.

"I thought it would be a draw, but you have me this time," he hung his head in defeat. "But," he shook a finger at his brother, "do not think this is the end of it. We will have a rematch in the daylight." He glanced at the time, his face paling to an ashen white. "We had better get back or we will all be in trouble."

Gathering up the knives, Turo turned them over to one of the hosts, and Senna heard him happily say, "A donation for the efforts with our thanks."

As they tumbled out the door to the quiet streets beyond the courtyard, Senna caught Turo's sleeve. "What did you mean back there – a donation for _the efforts_?"

Turo looked at Senna strangely for a moment before he replied. "The Centaurum hasn't been getting help to the people who need it most. Let's just say, we make sure those people are taken care of."

Senna stared at him for a moment as they walked. "You sound like Southern rebels," she mused.

Turo and Puck exchanged a glance. "No, we're not rebels. We wouldn't take up arms against the Emperor. We love our country."

"But that donation…."

"Look," Puck took her arm as they walked, earnestly wagging a finger at her. "The situation in the South is getting more desperate by the day. This is a network of good Samaritans. It helps provide for people who have nothing. In fact, I believe it provides more stability than the government has the past few years. If the Centaurum won't act, we must act ourselves."

Senna took in this revelation calmly. "Why are you telling me this?"

Puck responded thoughtfully, "We know you were on the streets before the Emperor took you in. You know what it is like to be in a desperate situation – to fear for your life on the streets. We thought of anyone, you might understand what the people in the South are going through. And that they need help. Help they aren't getting from any official quarter."

Senna walked with them in silence for a few moments, listening to the clack of her heels on the pavement. "I know what it is like," she said finally. "But you must understand, the Royal Treasury is empty, and the Emperor is doing everything he can. I can see how it wears on him, day after day. He knows how desperate the situation is, and he is busy from dawn until dusk every day, but the reparations the Alliance demanded from us are crippling the economy."

Turo nodded, "As I said, we love our country, and we would never act against the Centaurum or the Emperor. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. And we do not believe it is necessary, but if conditions continue to get worse, the people will become more desperate, and there may be blood in the future."

Senna considered the graft and malaise of some of the ministers, and the Emperor's deepening depression and anger at his cabinet. She also thought of her desperate days on the street before the Emperor had adopted her as his ward, and she considered the Southern rebel network could be strategically helpful to the Emperor and to herself. "You have a close knit community," she side-stepped the lingering, unspoken question.

Turo piped in, agreeing with her assessment, "Our community was forged in desperation, so it is closer than most."

Senna considered this, smiling inwardly that they had let her into such a coveted place.

As the palace came into sight, Senna turned toward the brothers. "My own teacher was killed, you know, and I am also distrustful of some of the ministers. You have seen the Prime Candidates today - the militarization of the youth. I also have concerns about what is happening within the country, and I think we might be of use to each other. But the Emperor is doing everything he can in these very desperate times, and he is like a father to me. I could never help you if I thought you might rise against him."

Puck squared his shoulders. "We accept your condition. We are interested in ensuring that the people have enough food to eat in light of the famine and that citizens do not disappear in the middle of the night, and having an ally within the palace would be helpful in ensuring supplies arrive to the places that need them most. You could warn us if you hear anything concerning disappearances. And I am sure we can be of mutual benefit to you. We will be in your debt, and you may call on us at any time. And now you know one of our meeting houses, so you can see we already trust in your discretion."

Senna sighed, though excitement tingled in her blood. She was well-placed to do some good, and the Marcanti brothers could be the vehicle she could use to help the Emperor's plight. "Very well," she agreed to the arrangements. "Now how are we going to get back in the palace?" she asked.

"Watch this," Puck strolled to the main entrance and addressed the attending guard who snapped to attention and raised the gate. The trio walked past, and Senna noticed the guard's pale face.

"What did you tell him?" she asked.

Puck laughed. "I told him that we had accompanied Young Lady Senna from the palace grounds and that the guards had failed in their duties to ensure her safety. The Emperor would have their heads if he found out, so either they could make a scene and tell him, forfeiting their lives, or they could let us back in, and we wouldn't mention the incident to him. The commanding officer agreed it would be best if we kept the incident to ourselves."

Senna laughed, "A clever strategy."

Puck and Turo bowed as each chuckled. "Thank you, Lady Senna," Puck replied.


	8. Chasing the Moon

Londo faced the Drakh standing beside him. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked coolly.

“We have a problem,” Shiv’kala hissed.

Londo narrowed his eyes at Shiv’kala as he remembered the earlier events of the afternoon when he had choked Durla into submission. He had known a punishment would follow, but he had not considered that Shiv’kala would interrupt his evening with Aryella. “ _Great Maker_ , if you are so fond of Durla, then kill me already and make him your puppet if that is what you want.”

“You each have your usefulness. We do not wish to kill you, but we will if we must.” Shiv’kala cocked his head with an odd expression on his face. “This woman who arrived today. You care for her.” It was not a question.

Londo knew he could not hide his affection for her considering the Keeper had been watching him all day. “She was my first wife. Despite whatever your own rituals are with females, Shiv’kala, I happen to have cared for all of my wives – admittedly, in different degrees.”

“Your disobedience requires correction. And it is not only Durla we are speaking about. You tried to tell her of our existence. We cannot let this stand. We will make an example of her.”

“No!” Londo raised his voice in objection and pointed a finger at Shiv’kala. “She has absolutely nothing to do with this.” Londo crossed the room, standing between Shiv’kala and the door to the bedroom, and he defensively wedged his heel against the door, preventing her from accidentally opening it and preventing Shiv’kala from accessing the other room. “If you want to punish me, then do it. But if you want my continued participation in this sham of a government, you will leave her out of it, for she has done nothing wrong. I will ensure she leaves the palace tonight. And I can assure you, she will never come back. And anyway, she is a commoner. Imagine if commoners begin to end up missing after telling their friends they are going to the palace. It will turn the people against me, and you need some of the people’s support, for an emperor without any support does not remain emperor long.”

Shiv’kala blinked slowly, contemplating Londo’s abrupt ire at the mention of the woman. The Drakh network had allowed Timov to stay at the palace, as well, and Londo had eventually sent her away. Shiv’kala shrugged. “It does not change your disobedience.” He sent vicious shockwaves of pain pummeling through Londo’s nerves, and Londo grunted audibly as his knees buckled and his weight fell heavily against the door.

As Londo stumbled backward, he clutched at the air, trying to force his lungs to breathe through the spasms that Shiv’kala commanded the Keeper to send through Londo’s nervous system. He grasped at the door frame, trying to keep himself from falling to the ground, but his legs gave out, and he found himself crumpled against the door. “If you want me to get rid of the commoners tonight,” Londo coughed on the taste of blood in his mouth, “you are going to have to leave me the use of this body for a while longer.”

A wicked smile curled around Shiv’kala’s mouth. “She arrived with the other commoners? An emperor is not required to take time for public audiences, and such occurrences allow riff raff into the palace. It would be better to cancel all future public audiences.”

Londo’s face filled with fury, but he was in no position to argue. Durla would get what he had wanted all along, and one more door to the outside world would shut in Londo’s face. With anger burning inside him, he weighed the costs and finally relented. “If you allow the woman to leave unharmed, then I will not object to the cancellations.”

A look of satisfaction passed over Shiv’kala’s face. “And the young men with her?”

Londo had to prevent himself from looking up sharply. He was walking a razor thin wire. “They are no concern of mine.”

Shiv’kala let out a blood-curdling laugh. “She claims that they are your sons.”

Londo stared into Shiv’kala’s eyes from his awkward position slumped against the door, “She can claim whatever she likes. She thinks it will win her a handsome purse from my bank account. Claiming a lie does not make it true. They have nothing to do with me, and the DNA results will prove it tonight before the night is out.”

“You are quite confident at the outcome.”

Londo allowed himself a deep laugh, throwing his head back until it rested on the door. He laughed until the blood in his mouth forced him into a coughing fit, and as it finally gave way, he struggled to gain the air back he had lost, “I guess it is because I was there. So, out of the two people in the universe who would know, I am one. That is why I had the physician test their DNA. It will prove what I have said.”

“And if you are wrong?”

Londo fought his lungs for air to speak, “I am not wrong.”

Shiv’kala considered Londo’s words. “So if we dispose of them now?”

Londo closed his eyes, trying to sweep away the burning in his nerves for a moment as he continued to breathe shallowly. “Well, you cannot say their mother will leave here unharmed if you kill them. I suspect doing that would harm her very much. And like her, you run the risk of making commoners disappear at the palace for no reason at all – the people will not stand for such things, and they will rebel. So, that is the deal I will make with you, Shiv’kala,” he dragged his sleeve across his bloody mouth. “If you do not make it, you cannot count on my obedience in future matters. You only have one body to torture, and when it gives out, you will have a long road ahead of you to retrain another man in my place, even if it is Durla. So, take your choice.”

Without reply, Shiv’kala sent Londo the rest of his punishment for the night’s transgressions, an extended assault of pain beyond his threshold, and Londo’s muscles seized in waves of agony. “In light of your promise to remove the commoners from the palace tonight, we will not require you to sit in isolation. _This time_.” Shiv’kala’s eyes glinted. “Beyond,” he spread his arms, “our mercy.”

Londo barely heard the Drakh’s words as his eyes watered as his body spasmed with distress, and he rolled sideways with unseeing eyes, retching uncontrollably into the corner before blackness overtook him.

At the sound of Londo’s raised voice in the next room, Aryella awoke, and she crept to the closed door of the bedroom and peered through the tiny crack in the door. She could see Londo’s flash of white as he stood in front of the door, and she heard the slight bump of his heel against it. As he obscured the small crack of a window she had into the room, she could only strain at the door with her ears to make out the sounds from the other side.

With her ear to the door, Aryella caught her breath at a sudden smash against the door, and she covered her mouth to prevent the sound of her own terror from giving her away.

But after a few minutes of stillness and quiet, Aryella could tell whatever had been happening in the next room had ended. She had been able to make out only a few of Londo’s words, and as she tried to open the door, she found she was able to wedge it far enough open to squeeze through it. With horror, she found Londo’s unconscious body on the other side, his sleeve smeared with blood.

“ _Great Maker_ ,” she whispered, smelling blood, bile, and sweat. She tried to rouse him, but at first he did not awaken. Just when she was ready to summon a doctor for him, Londo groaned, and his eyes rolled back and forth in his head, his vision swimming before he heard her quietly whispering his name.

“Londo?” she asked, terrified, “Are you alright?”

“That voice ….” He struggled to open his eyes again, to find her face swimming in the blur. “Aryella? Is that you? What are you doing here?” His tone belied his confusion.

Aryella stroked his face, trying to soothe him. “I came to visit you today, don’t you remember?”

His brows drew together in confusion for several moments before a look of remembrance and trepidation dawned on his face. “You should not be here.”

“I’m going to get the doctor. You’ve had an episode of some kind. Just wait here, and I’ll be back shortly.”

At first, Londo couldn’t sort out what she was saying, but as the disassembled words reassembled themselves in his murky mind, he reached out a shaking hand toward her. He clasped her arm in a moment of strength before faltering again as he fought his lungs to get out a few words. “No, you must not call anyone.” Aryella began to rise in defiance of his request but stopped at his plaintive plea, “ _Please_ ,” his voice cracked with emotion.

“Has this happened before?” she asked, already seeing the answer in his defeated eyes.

“You can tell no one,” he begged. “My pride is all that I have left. Do not take it from me.” He struggled, powerless, to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Lie still,” she fretted as she took stock of the situation. Londo closed his eyes with fatigue and pain, and she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. His eyes struggled to open again.

“Whatever it is,” he whispered with an attempt at a smile, “it can’t be that bad,” he said, repeating the words she had said to him when he had found her at the club, as he fell back into unconsciousness.

At the sight of Londo’s situation, Aryella felt her emotions rolling over her, but she ensured he was resting comfortably before she tidied up the room. At least she could save him the humiliation of awakening in his own bile. But she did not have the strength to lift him to the bed, and she wondered again if calling the guards would not be the wisest thing. She looked at his undignified state, half bloody and unconscious on the floor. She stuffed nearby pillows and blankets beneath him to give him some comfort from the hard ground. Then, she scrambled onto the floor next to him. To help him breathe, she unbuttoned his waistcoat and unfastened his shirt. As she removed these items, she noticed he had several large, angry bruises on his torso covered by his layers of clothing.

She ran her fingers over the bruises with horror, noticing they were in various states of healing, indicating he had sustained them at different times. “ _Great Maker_ ,” she took his limp hand as she felt her chest own welling with sadness. “What have the gods done to you?” She let her tears drop onto his imperial waistcoat.

She felt his hand twitch as he regained consciousness again, and under heavy eyelids, he looked into her face and noticed her staring at his bruised torso. “Do not cry, Aryella,” he said breathlessly as he reached up brushing her tears away. “You do not understand,” he managed, noticing her gaze at his bruises. He gestured helplessly at the contusions discoloring his body that had been caused by falling into objects from losing control of his body under the Drakh’s punishments. “They are my medals of honor. These battle scars are the symbol of struggle. They mean that I have not yet capitulated.”

With dismay, Aryella stroked his face as she tried to make him comfortable, erroneously believing he was suffering from paralyzing seizures. “If you know what brings this on, then you must avoid it,” she took his hand.

Londo appeared to be fighting his own body to breathe. “There you are wrong. If I give in, I might as well give up.”

“Londo, please, you must see a doctor about these seizures,” she pleaded with him.

He closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain evident on his features. “No,” he sighed. “There is nothing a doctor can do for me. This is a terminal battle I am locked in.”

Aryella buried her face in her hands, incapable of stopping the tears that continued to fall. If pride had quietly blossomed in her chest when, from a distance, she had seen Londo named Prime Minister and eventually Emperor, she had never imagined him suffering like this behind closed doors. She knew she would never forget the frightening sight of seeing the man she loved and her nation’s emperor reduced to such wretchedness. “How do you know it is fatal?” she said tearfully. “You must let the doctors try. There must be something they can do.”

“No.” He patted her hand, trying to comfort her. “I _know_.”

Her heart burst with sadness at the sight of Londo trying to comfort her as he writhed in pain on the floor, but she gathered her dress around herself and prepared to rise with determination in her eyes. “You need help, Londo. I will not let you lie here in pain. At the least, the doctors can treat your symptoms.”

But it was his last plaintive entreaty that overcame her. “ _Please_ ,” he pleaded, his voice fading to a mere whisper, “ _do not leave me_.” At his desperation, she fell back by his side, overwhelmed by the injustice of seeing him in such a state and being able to doing nothing about his anguish.

“What can I do to make you comfortable?” she choked back her tears, trying to be strong for him.

Londo coughed heavily, and at last he responded, though his voice was thick. “Stay with me,” he said simply. “I could endure a thousand nights of this torture to remember just this one with you here.” He reached out a hand tentatively, and as his fingers made contact with her skin, his eyes lightened. “The world weighs heavier on both of our shoulders than it did 30 years ago, but to have this night together,” the corner of his mouth curled in a weak smile, “it is all I need to sustain myself until the end. It is almost enough to make a man believe in the gods.”

So Aryella stayed curled by his side, grasping one of his limp hands against her chest as the evening hours ticked by, the twin pains of worry and despondency grappling with her hearts. At last, Londo struggled to pull himself to his elbows, and he asked Aryella to bring him a bottle of spirits to help him regain his strength, so she retrieved his brivari and brought him a glass.

“Does the brivari help?” she asked gently. “To ease the pains of your seizures?”

Londo gazed at her for a moment before his muted gesture indicated the window and the black night beyond it. “Imagine if you dug your own grave over many, many years, and eventually, you found yourself in such a great hole that you could not crawl out of it.” He coughed, hacking up blood again before he continued. “There you are at the bottom of a great chasm. There is no light to brighten your days. You can see only the faintest glimmer of the world that you used to know so well. You wish you had a ladder, but there is no ladder. You wish someone could pull you out, but the hole is in an abandoned field where no one will find it. All you can hope is that one day, there will be a torrent of rain that will take pity on you and drown you quickly, but such rains are infrequent. So all that you have to cherish in the world are those few minutes each night in the darkness when your old friend the moon appears overhead as it crosses the sky. That one glimpse of the moon as it goes by reminds you the world is still there, hope yet exists, you are not alone, and perhaps there is yet a way out of that hole. Would you not look forward to that one moment each night and chase it with all of your strength?” Londo raised his glass a few inches. “This is how I chase the moon.”

“Londo,” Aryella rested a reassuring hand over his shoulder, “You cannot think these seizures are your fault.”

Londo managed an amused laugh. “You do not understand. You see, I am my grandfather’s son now, so it is a punishment for all the things I have done.”

Aryella’s eyes registered confusion. “Your grandfather was a war criminal.”

Londo nodded. “Yes. And now I share the title with him. So, this is my penance,” he gestured helplessly at his state.

“I don’t believe that,” Aryella shook her head.

Londo found her eyes with his own, “We believe what we want to believe, Aryella. I was a better man when I knew you. Now,” he faltered as he coughed on his own blood. “I am no longer that man. I wish I could step into his shoes again, but those shoes are too tight. Being the man you knew is a luxury lost to me a long time ago.” He rested a few moments before he gestured to her. “I think I can make it to the bed now.”.

Aryella helped Londo rise, though she could tell that he was almost too weak to make it, and he rested against the wall for some time before he could make his way into the bedroom. She supported and steadied him as he moved the few feet to his bed, before he tumbled into it at last.

“Aryella,” he managed, “What time is it?” Looking at the time, he relaxed into the pillows, “We have some time yet. I told Senna to bring your young men back when the ball was done, and it has just begun.”

Aryella stroked his face, shivers of fear still slicing her open at his condition. “I knew you had this all planned out,” she curled up next to him.

“No,” Londo closed his eyes, “If I planned it, everything would be different.” His breath shortened again, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “It would not be like this.”

“I thought I heard voices in the other room, Londo. Was someone in there with you?”

Londo’s eyes snapped back open. “You are mistaken, Aryella. I was talking to myself.” Seeing the warning race over his features before his eyes faded into dullness again, Aryella did not challenge him, and at last, he breathed deeply, closing his eyes in weariness.

Aryella laid down next to him, trying to reassure him with her body. She buried her face in his good shoulder as she tenderly embraced him, feeling the warmth of his breath scented with brivari on her neck. Though she thought he had fallen back asleep, she saw his eyes crack open. A deep sadness was painted on his face, and she heard him whisper. “ _It is as if a piece of my soul has returned to me, and I do not wish it to leave me again_.” Before she could respond, she felt his soft embrace, not the mere embrace of his hands, but the most intimate and personal embrace a Centauri male could offer. She felt the twining of his appendages encircling her and pulling her closer.

In Centauri mythology, a male god who had wronged a female god had encircled her in such an embrace, and she had used the opportunity to sever his most precious appendages, so such an embrace for a Centauri male was a symbol of vulnerability and a silent supplication, like the baring of one’s soul, for acceptance and forgiveness of past deeds. Such an embrace had no sexual connotation associated with it, but it was intensely personal, for it was often the way a Centauri male might cradle his newborn child, denoting the man’s love, affection, and promise to provide and protect his most cherished relations.

Although he still periodically shuddered with pain, Londo opened his eyes, contentment written on his face. “I wish this moment to last forever,” he kissed her lips with tenderness.  “And I would not trade this day for anything. I wish you to know that,” he added before his eyes closed once more.

Aryella ran her fingers over his temple, perceiving that he was still in great pain, and she wondered at his words, for the implication telegraphed through them was the anguish and agony of his everyday existence. At last, she surrendered to the rhythm of his heartbeats and fell asleep wrapped in his reassuring embrace.

“Aryella,” Londo’s voice awoke Aryella from her light slumber. “Come, it is time to see to your young men,” he murmured before struggling to rise.

Londo pushed himself wearily from the bed and slowly but deliberately changed, preparing himself until he was properly presentable again. Aryella adjusted his collar and helped him slip on his jacket, smoothing its lines until it hung properly.

Londo disappeared to the wash room, and when he returned, she discerned the same heaviness exaggerated in his step that she had perceived in the throne room, but now she understood the seizures were causing his years to weigh on him so heavily. She also perceived at that moment that his ailment had been going on quite some time. She considered that she could tell someone, but who would she tell? She knew no one at the Royal Court, and if she told the wrong person, it could easily cost Londo his throne and his life. Conspiracies abounded in the Royal Court, and a whisper that the Emperor was taken with such serious spells could easily result in a coup. Erroneously thinking he willed the silence to protect himself, she committed to keep it on his behalf. But little did she know that she held the key to his freedom.


	9. Sea of Tears

Londo and Aryella returned to his study, and he drew out the personal check he had started writing when he had first encountered her. He finished writing, folded it in half and put it in her hands. “When my father had our marriage annulled, he robbed you of a proper settlement. I do not wish to see any of my wives reduced to poverty. Even Mariel, who tried to kill me, is not a pauper. And you have not tried to kill me. At least,” he chuckled, “not yet.” He pressed the check into her palm. “Take it, Aryella. _Please_.”

“I’m not here for your money, Londo,” she tried to hand back the check, but he would not take it.

“You said, before, that giving to others fills your hearts. Will you deny me this same joy, then?” he said, a stern note in his words.

Aryella looked at the check in her hand, and her face paled as she read his scrawl. “There must be a mistake,” she glanced back at him.

“There is no mistake,” he straightened.

“I do not know what to say besides ‘thank you,’” she replied.

“You do not need to say anything,” Londo reassured her. “And…” he paused, swallowing hard as the moments had all but slipped away.

“Londo,” Aryella glanced at the tremor in his hand. “You are nervous to find out the results of the test?”

Londo nodded in relief. “Yes, that is it.” He squeezed her hands as his eyes blazed with intensity. “I was surprised when you first told me, and I did not know how to react. But if I am their father, _nothing_ could make me happier.” He searched her eyes. “I would only be sorry to have missed all that has passed in the last 30 years, but you have given me a glimpse tonight, so I know a little of it.”

Aryella sighed, “You have hardly spent any time with them.”

Londo glanced out his window, “Until I know for certain, I did not want to…become attached….I find that hardships are easier to endure when they are a remote and unknown quantity rather than the painful details of something so deeply personal.” Aryella looked at him oddly at his last remark, but someone rapped at the door. Londo nodded as a guard ushered Senna, Puck, and Turo inside.

“Senna,” Londo directed his attention toward her. “How was the evening?”

“It was... _informative_ , Your Majesty,” Senna curtsied and the hint of a smile crept across her face.

“Very good. I will see you at breakfast, Young Lady Senna.” He smiled at his ward warmly, and Senna departed.

“Gentlemen, I am sorry to have kept you so late.” Londo turned toward the Marcanti brothers. “I will arrange for you to be taken home tonight as it is getting late. I trust Dunseny has prepared the gifts we spoke of earlier, but your mother is an old friend, and I wish to give you one other item. He gestured toward the engraved pair of coutaris hanging in his study. “When I knew your mother, I had just returned from Ragesh III with these by my side, and when I became Emperor, I had them engraved. There are two of them, and two of you, so I would like to give you the pair.”

“Your Excellency,” Puck shook his head vigorously, “we cannot accept such a gift.”

Londo’s face took on a measure of solemnness and a scowl. “Are you refusing my gift?”

Puck’s eyes opened wider, “No, Your Excellency.” His eyes found the floor in tenseness. “We will treasure them, I assure you.” He bowed his head.

Londo allowed his scowl to melt away, “Very good. Now, we have the results of the exams.” Londo waved in the Royal Physician who was waiting outside, and he entered the study holding a small envelope and another piece of paper.

Londo beckoned the envelope with his hand. Once he received it, Londo flipped open the envelope, glancing through the results with the face of a judge reading a defendant’s fate. He closed it again and handed it to Turo and Puck while he read the additional piece of paper.

With Aryella peering over his shoulder, Turo opened the envelope. Wordlessly, he handed it to his mother who glanced at the words and then glanced back at Londo, holding his eyes in a pregnant stare.

Londo broke Aryella’s gaze and clapped Turo and Puck on the shoulders. “You are lucky young fellows,” he boomed, “you will keep all of your organs! It does not appear we are a match at all. Good luck to you, gentlemen. When I think of Porto’s skyline, I will be sure to think of you.” He took Aryella’s hand and kissed it. “And you, my dear Lady Aryella, it has been my honor to have one more evening with you. They have been exceedingly rare, you see, so I must treasure each precious moment.”

The brothers bowed low and departed through the study’s door, following the Royal Physician, but Aryella lingered.

“You were mistaken about your sons.” Londo said firmly when he saw her waiting. He handed her the other paper. “The Royal Physician has identified Mr. Marcanti as their father.”

Aryella’s face blanked into a mask devoid of emotion, and she kept any perceivable reaction from her voice as she steadily met his gaze. “This was unnecessary.” She unclipped the rose he had places on her dress. It now drooped, having expired when seven hours had elapsed, and she placed it on top of the folded check he had given her, laying both upon his desk. “You did not need to buy my cooperation.”

Londo pointed to the check. “I am not buying anything. You were entitled to it long ago. I cannot help it if the tests do not validate your claims against me.” His wavered for the briefest moment before he found his resoluteness again. “But if I was going to buy anything, I would ensure that the price I paid would be more than enough to undermine your current arrangement. I do not know on whose behalf you are acting or if it is purely on behalf of yourself, but I’m afraid your ploy has not worked. It was clever, I agree, and I almost believed you, but you did not count on the DNA test, did you? I have been more than generous today in light of our history, and now I find you have been lying to me this entire time. If you repeat these lies, I shall be forced to do something about it. And as I told you, I will protect my office.”

“Londo,” she protested, but Mollari cut her off.

“You may address me by my title,” he said firmly, his face coloring redder.

Aryella’s gaze fell to the floor. “As you wish, Your Excellency.”

“Get out,” he said quietly, watching her bowed head. As she began to depart, he called her back, “Aryella, wait.”

She stopped in her tracks, not meeting his eyes.

“You will take that check, and then the things between us will be at an end.”

Aryella lifted her gaze at last. “If you wish to send me to the gallows for disobeying you, then do it. But do not force me to accept your gesture and feign gratitude, for there is no compassion in it.”

Londo’s eyes dulled and he found he could no longer look at her, “Then go. I forbid you to return to the palace. And that goes for your young men as well. Do not make me issue it as a formal edict, for I will do it.”

With his final cold words, she curtsied briskly and disappeared through his doorway.

Londo’s eyes found Aryella’s figure again as she walked out the door, and the burning in his chest was overwhelming. He slumped into his chair, knowing that if she had any sorrow or anger at his words, she would save them for private, and he would hear nothing further of the matter.

A knock announced another visitor.

There, at the door, was the Royal Physician. “Excellency,” the doctor bowed. “I did as you requested under the protocol initiated by Cartagia.” He handed Londo another envelope.

Londo acknowledged this with a brief nod. “You may leave it on my desk. But, Doctor?” he motioned for the doctor to return to him, “Tell me, I thought I heard you were married. Is it true?”

“Yes, Excellency. I have two little ones. They are the light of my life. I couldn’t imagine life without them anymore.”

“Well,” Londo rubbed his temples, his stomach feeling sick. “They will be missing you. You have worked a late night for me. They deserve my gratitude. Oh,” he said, as if it was an afterthought, “I would like the original records from today destroyed before you leave tonight. Can you manage it? I don’t need the Royal Archive storing evidence of my conquests, and I prefer to have the only copy here, on my desk.”

“Yes, Excellency, I can destroy the men’s DNA sample and the results straightaway.”

“Very good,” Londo smiled thinly. “Thank you, doctor, for your service. I do have one last thing, and I’m afraid that it is quite urgent. Would you mind waiting in the lab until I call for you? It should not be long.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” The doctor turned on his heel and headed for the lab.

Londo drowned his sorrows in another bottle of brivari. And when he could hardly stand and almost certainly could not walk, when his vision crossed, and he knew his Keeper could not possibly be awake, only then did he open the envelope with the real DNA results.

He fingered the note for a moment before the words crystallized on the page. When they did, they were seared into his memory forever. He pounded a frustrated fist against his desk before burying his face in his hands for a moment. He stared at the envelope before feeding its contents to a nearby candle and watching it disappear in flames.

There was one loose end that remained, and unless he took care of it, he could not be sure the matter would be put to rest permanently and kept from the Drakh.

Londo called one of his guards. Snapping his heels to attention, the guard listened. “Captain,” Londo said, dragging the words from his own mouth. “Unfortunately, I have uncovered information that the Royal Physician has committed treason against us. You will make an end of it. Quickly. Quietly. Dispose of the body in the dungeon. But we are not unkind, and he has young children. So, you will see to it that his death is treated as an accident from which his body was unrecoverable. His widow shall be put on the roles for a stipend to ensure the education of her children. When you have secured the body in the dungeon, you will return to me and let me know it is done. And then, we will not hear of this matter again. Do you understand?”

The guard’s eyes widened, but he nodded with a gulp. “Yes, Excellency.”

“Captain?” Londo called the guard back.

“Excellency?”

“Ensure that he does not see it coming. Make it as painless as possible. He is in the lab. See to it now.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

Londo bid him go with a hand. As the guard left, Londo couldn’t help but feel violently ill, but he knew it was necessary. _One life_ _or two_ , he thought, trying to convince himself that the one life was a better bargain than the two, even though the one life had three more depending on it.

Alone, Londo considered what he had gained and lost in the course of a few hours, and his own complicity in the killing of an innocent man. _What does it matter_ , he tried to convince himself, _what is one more drop of blood on my hands?_ But still, he could not shake the sickness overtaking the pit of his stomach. He withdrew the locket Aryella had given him from his pocket, gazing sadly at the toddler’s bright eyes for an eternity until he felt the effects of the alcohol starting to wear off, and knowing the Keeper would awaken soon, he closed it and dropped it into a small pocket in his waistcoat.

Though it was late, Londo called Dunseny to attend him, and the elderly man arrived, sleep still in his eyes.

“Dunseny,” Londo handed over the folded check. “I want you to ensure Aryella receives this money. She will not take it from me. You must find a way to get her to accept it.”

“Your Excellency,” Dunseny stared at the check in his hand, “if the lady does not wish to accept….”

Londo grasped Dunseny’s shoulder, despondency in his voice, “ _Please_ , Dunseny. You must try. Even if you must keep it for a decade before she accepts it. Just try, _please_.” Dunseny stared at the check in his hand for a moment and glancing at the Emperor’s face, he straightened his shoulders before he bowed and exited.

Londo returned to his bedroom, seeing the outline of Aryella still etched on the covers, the pillow indented by her head. The bed scented of her perfume, and he ran his fingers across the woven threads, the memory of her body permanently etched in his mind.

As he was staring at the bed, a flash of white caught his eye on the nightstand, and he noticed a notepad lying there. On the notepad was a moon peaking playfully around evening clouds, a mischievous smile apparent on its pockmarked face. Beneath it, Aryella had written a short caption that read:

_Little did the King know that the Coy Moon enjoyed the nightly chase._

Londo could not help but smile at the drawing and her caption, though it tore out his hearts at the same time. His Keeper was still asleep, so quietly he whispered, “ _I would give the sun itself to lie next to you every night through eternity itself, but such a wish would destroy us both – one from misery and the other from regret. In my absence, I offer protection from my world. It is all I have to give. I do not expect that you will forgive me, and I don’t know what you must think of me now, but at least you are alive to think it.”_

He put his head in his hands, and his tears fell as his hearts sank lower, weighted by heavier concerns than the day before. But now, when he closed his eyes, he could feel Aryella’s fingers curled around his own, and her body nestled into his. The thought made him smile, even if the memory was as bittersweet as it could be.

Later, Londo would have the little sketch framed, and it was propped on his nightstand where he would see it each evening, reminding him of the contentment he had been granted for a few short hours and the happiness just out of his reach.

Londo wrote nothing about the day’s events in his private journal stored behind the bookshelves that he intended to be found upon his death. He wrote it only in his drunken hand, his Keeper none the wiser, and it detailed the Drakh’s malignant influence. _No one_ , Londo decided, _not even Vir after he became Emperor, could read of this day_. The last thing he could grant the boys in this life was the freedom he never had. He felt conflicted, for his sensibility and pride as a nobleman required that they should inherit their birthright and status, but he did not have the means to protect them if they should be named his heirs. He knew all too well what the Drakh would impose upon them -- he had been forced to help impose a Keeper on young David Sheridan, and Londo could think of no worse fate. He frowned with sadness and frustration. Puck and Turo’s  status brought its own curse of poverty, but the boys had their own names and their own destinies to pursue, free of duty and obligation and responsibility. Although it would rob them of their birthright, it would grant them the freedom that had been taken from him by his own father. _Damn everyone else to hell_ , he thought, _those boys will be free_.


	10. Epilogue

Several years later, Vir and his future wife, Senna, had grown closer, and he saw her often through he now had barely any contact with Londo, who had held him at arm’s length through the long years he had served as Emperor. Through the assistance of Galen, a technomage, Vir had learned of the Drakh’s existence. As he spearheaded the Resistance’s underground efforts to undermine the Drakh’s efforts to subjugate the Centauri Republic in secret, Vir had grown confidence, shedding his mantle of nervousness. But his efforts also meant that he was actively working against Londo, and though he did not relish this reality, there were no other options.

One night over dinner with Senna, Vir wondered out loud how he could organize the South’s restive efforts into a cohesive resistance unit.

Casting her thoughts back to some years earlier, Senna fondly recalled her evening with the Marcanti brothers. “I think I know just the men to help organize the South for you,” she mused.

In the ensuing year, Vir tapped the capable Marcanti brothers to assist his efforts. They were already well organized with the restive Southern elements, and their network was not only dependable but it was loyal, a quality sorely lacking in the noble circles.

After a few meetings with the Marcanti brothers, Vir uncovered the name of their mother, and he had recoiled inwardly in shock. Over the years, Vir had access to Londo’s personal files, and he had periodically found out more about Londo’s past than he cared to know. So he had remembered the day he had been shuffling through dusty documents in Londo’s documents, looking for a file Londo had long held on the Vree Ambassador when he had accidentally uncovered a copy of an annulled wedding certificate. Vir had quickly refiled the certificate, ashamed that he had accidentally seen something so personal. Londo had nonchalantly mentioned his first marriage on occasion, but he had diplomatically withheld the name of the woman and her family. But Vir had remembered, and although her last name was different now, it did not take much to realize it was the same Aryella from Londo’s past.

When Vir learned that Aryella had spent an evening at the palace, he had convinced the brothers to introduce him because he was still trying to unravel the depth and nature of the Drakh’s influence in palace.

In a private meeting with Aryella, Vir had earnestly asked if she had seen anything strange that evening.

Although she denied seeing anything unusual, Vir had seen the flicker of unsureness cross her face before she answered, so he earnestly pleaded with her, trying to convince her that he was trying to help Londo. He explained to her, without revealing details, the broad strokes of the possible alien influence on the palace, and he outlined his long friendship with Londo in the hopes that she would believe him.

At last, she responded, “That night, he abruptly collapsed.”

Vir placed the hot jala she had prepared for him aside and inched his chair closer to her. “Did you see what caused it?”

Aryella shook her head.

“Please,” Vir pleaded with her, “anything you saw that was out of the ordinary could be critical.”

Aryella regarded Vir for some time as if weighing his character and the cost to Londo.

Vir straightened his shoulder, “Madam, I give you my word that I am trying to help Londo.”

“Yet you are here plotting against him.”

Vir sighed, “It is the only way to help him.”

“It might get him killed,” Aryella replied quietly.

Vir looked at the ground, his old unsureness returning for a moment. “It may be the _only_ way to help him,” he repeated.

She hesitated but at last she offered, “I thought I heard him talking to someone in the other room, but he claimed he was talking to himself.” She went on to reveal the snippets of conversation she had thought she had heard that night.

“And what happened?” Vir questioned.

“It was…” she looked up at Vir with sadness in her eyes, “...the most terrible sight I have seen. There is no way to describe his suffering. He did not want anyone to know how bad it was. He would never want anyone to know, Ambassador, that the Emperor of the Centauri Republic was paralyzed with pain, unable to move, covered in blood and vomit, helplessly lying on the floor. And so, I cannot tell that to you, either, and if you repeat it, I will deny that I uttered these words.”

Vir felt his own stomach turn over at her description of Londo’s plight. It was no way for Londo to live, trapped like an animal inside the palace and crushed under the heel of the Drakh. He felt no reassurance himself, but he could see the pain radiated from Aryella’s eyes. “I will do everything in my power to help him,” Vir said solemnly. _Even if I know he must die to be released from it_ , he thought.

Vir stood, bowing his thanks. “Lady Aryella,” Vir paused, curiosity seizing him, “May I ask what took you to the palace that night?”

“No, Ambassador Cotto,” Aryella would not meet his gaze. “You may not.”

Vir bowed his head in a goodbye. As he headed for the door, he stared at a photo of her sons and mentally noted the familiar coutaris adorning the doorway. With a look of momentary puzzlement, he exited the small door, greeting the Centauri sunshine as he prepared to meet Galen to plan the Resistance’s next plan of attack to free Centauri Prime of the Drakh influence, but he turned slowly back toward the door, staring at it for some time before his head bowed again and he turned toward his shuttle with melancholy in his steps.

When the death of the Emperor was announced, Aryella took a bottle of red wine to the beach where the sky was darkened with ominous clouds. Only there did she kick off her shoes, let the ocean lap at her toes, open the newspaper, and read the story. When she had finished, she crushed the newspaper in her fingertips and withdrew Londo’s worn check, holding it in her other hand for a moment before tucking it away again. Although Vir had sketched the broad outlines of alien influence on the palace, he had not explained the existence of the Keeper or that Londo had been under constant observation of the Drakh, and the revelations shook Aryella to her core. She stared at the swirling waters of Porto’s beach, letting her fingers trail in the water as she rewound time in her memory.

She thought about her last evening with Londo, and the events that had shaped that day. She thought of all that he had done for her, how he had bent over backwards to make her feel at home in the palace, and the melancholy and loneliness she had seen written on his face. She remembered his words when she had told him of his sons' existence: " _You do not know what you have done,"_ he had said. She remembered the tenderness of his shoulder and how he had placed himself between the unseen voice in the other room and her position. She remembered his abrupt plea for forgiveness in the garden and the way he had delayed the DNA results for hours to extend their time together. She remembered his words about how proud he would be if he was the boys' father but that hardships were easier to endure when they were a vague and unknown quantity. She remembered his attempts to send her away with the generous check and his gift of his prized coutaris to her sons. She remembered her reaction when she had realized that he had orchestrated the false DNA results and his solemn command that she and her sons should not return to the palace. She remembered how Dunseny had come to her, pleading with her to accept the Emperor's gift on his behalf. She remembered his comment that he would not have traded their day together for anything. And she remembered their last intimate embrace, the twining curl of his body around her as he had wordlessly and protectively held her, his quiet murmur that their night together was all he needed to sustain him until the end, and the warmth and love she had seen pouring from his eyes. Now, she understood that by sending his sons away, he was acting to protect them, and his coutaris were his silent acknowledgement of their rightful place as his heirs. She understood why he had cruelly sent her away from him a second time, but that this time, the choice was made from love. She finally understood it all, and now it was all too late.

 

FIN


End file.
